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togrowoldinv · 8 months

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Best Friend’s Mom

Milf!Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader

You wake up next to your best friend’s mom and she begins to seduce you

Warnings: 18+ please! Smut! Kissing, cursing, oral (R receiving), thigh riding, Wanda being a complete milf

Note: I woke up thinking about this. Enjoy!

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist, Main Masterlist

You wake up to the feeling of someone brushing up against you. Her breasts rub against your back as her arm comes around your body.

You’d slept over at your best friend’s house, but this isn’t her. You glance at her hand to see a wedding ring and those hands you would recognize anywhere.

It’s Wanda. Your best friend’s mom. When had she gotten in the bed with you? You try to recount last night’s events but you’re not able to.

Wanda rubs her hand over your arm. You turn slightly in her embrace to look at her.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Wanda says. She’s acting like this is completely normal.

“Hey Ms. Maximoff,” you say. You’re quite dumbfounded by the whole thing.

But god, she looks so beautiful in the mornings. You’ve had a crush on her for years, but that always seemed childish to you. She was never going to like you back or risk her relationship with her daughter to be with you. Plus, she was a church going lady. She wouldn’t ever go for it.

Wanda smiles at you, noticing you’re having a lot of internal turmoil. You look away from the golden smile. It’s too perfect. It’s then that you notice you’re in her bedroom. Not your friend’s.

“You couldn’t sleep last night,” Wanda offers an explanation when she sees your confusion. “So, I offered to let you sleep with me. You know, just to calm you down.”

“Oh, um- thank you, Ms. Maximoff.”

“Please honey, you can call me Wanda. We have slept together now,” Wanda says.

You feel your entire body heat up at her words even though you know what she meant.

Wanda likes that you haven’t made a move to get out of her embrace yet. She even dares to pull you a little closer.

“Y/n,” Wanda begins. “My daughter has already gone to work for the day.”

“Okay. I’ll just be on my way,” you say, finally making an attempt to leave but Wanda pulls you back towards her.

She leans down over you from the side and it’s then you notice her nightgown. It’s loose in the front allowing for her breasts to be almost on full display for you by the way she’s leaning. Wanda smiles amusingly.

“I think you should stay here and we can do something about this crush of yours,” Wanda explains.

“I- it’s not-“

“Shh, it’s okay baby,” she says. She places a hand on your cheek. Her long fingers brush against your face. “I’ve seen you looking at me for years now. No sense in denying it. Am I right, sweetheart?”

“Yes- yes ma’am,” you say.

“Oh those manners,” Wanda chuckles. “I love them.”

You can’t help but preen a little at the praise. You feel it in your heart and so many other places. Wanda shifts to move closer to your face. Her breasts rest against your chest.

“I’ve been looking at you too, y/n. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” Wanda says. You don’t reply and Wanda grabs your chin. “Don’t lose those manners on me now.”

“Sorry!” You say quickly, not wanting whatever this is to stop. “Thank you for the compliment, ma’am.”

“That’s a good girl,” Wanda says. “Now, this can happen a couple of different ways.”

You swallow thickly in anticipation of what ‘this’ is. But you’re ready.

“I’m going to kiss you now. If you hate it, we’ll stop. If you don’t hate it, we’ll keep going. And I’d really like to see that body of yours under mine, so please don’t hate it,” Wanda says.

Her words are calculated, like she’s been planning this. Or at least she thought of it before.

“I won’t hate it,” you assure her. That’s all she needs to have the confidence to start.

Wanda leans down and kisses your lips. She starts slow, pulling the softest moans from you by just kissing your lips. When her tongue licks against your lips, you feel like you could explode beneath her. Nothing has ever felt so good.

“Have you never had a woman’s tongue in your mouth, y/n?” Wanda asks you.

You wonder how she has with such a reputation as a perfect Christian she maintains. Everyone in town knows Wanda is a dedicated servant of the Lord.

“No ma’am,” you answer, breathless from her kisses.

“Me either,” Wanda admits. Oh, that changes things. “Only my husband’s and he’s been gone a long time.”

Wanda’s husband died years ago from an illness. You remember holding your best friend’s hand as she cried over her father. The reminder is almost enough to make you stop this, but Wanda keeps talking.

“I really need to do this, okay? You understand right, baby? I’m still so lonely and depraved,” Wanda says, revealing a more vulnerable side of this. She wasn’t just attacking you with affection for your sake. But also hers.

“Yes ma’am, I understand. Do whatever you want to me,” your words slip out. You want to cringe, but Wanda just grins wickedly.

This time, she kisses you while using her tongue. You use yours too as per her want for it. You and Wanda kiss for a long time before your hands begin to wander.

You grab her waist and pull her further on top of you. She gasps at the movement but recovers quickly. Wanda moves her kisses to your neck as her hands reach under your shirt hem.

“I want to see more of you,” Wanda says. She shifts her hips down to yours so she can lift your shirt off. She’s pleased you hadn’t slept with a bra on. Her hands immediately move over your breasts. Her fingers grip already hardened nipples.

You bunch her night down up at her waist and pull it further up her body. You knew she worked out, having seen her leaving the gym a few times, but nothing prepared you for seeing her perfectly toned body.

“You’re so beautiful,” you find yourself breathing out.

Wanda looks at you through her long eyelashes. She smiles softly, appreciating the compliment.

You sit up and take the nightgown off of Wanda. She’s bare underneath. Not even panties adorn her body.

“Fuck,” you mumble.

“That’s quite the language for a sweet girl like you,” Wanda says, her tone a bit scolding.

“Sorry ma’am,” you say. But you’re not.

Wanda makes the move to bring your hands to her breasts. She keeps her hands on yours as you massage them and play with her nipples.

What she doesn’t expect is when you lean in and take the nipples in your mouth one at a time. You suck on them. Wanda’s head falls back in pleasure as she grips your shoulders to stay upright.

“Oh, baby. Keep going,” Wanda says. “That feels so good.”

You keep it up while Wanda begins grinding against your leg. You can feel her wetness pooling onto your thigh and helping her continue to move against you.

“I’ve imagined this so many times,” Wanda says. “You and me sneaking around and having sex.”

“Mhm,” you mumble against her chest. You’ve imagined it too.

“So many nights I- fuck-“ Wanda tries to keep talking, but her orgasm begins washing over her.

You keep sucking her nipples and holding the back of her hips as she comes against you. Her moans are musical as she reaches her high and comes back down.

Wanda rests her forehead against your shoulder. You rub her back softly and rest your head in her neck.

“You did so good, Ms. Maximoff,” you say, keeping that name for her.

“Hmm, thank you baby,” Wanda says.

“What were you going to say earlier?” You ask her.

“When?”

“You said so many nights,” you supply. “So many nights what?”

“Oh,” Wanda says.

She’s recovered now and she pulls away from your shoulder. She takes your face between her hands and kisses your lips soundly.

“I was going to say so many nights I had to fuck myself and pretend it was you so I could get off,” Wanda says.

Your eyes go wide at her words. And you feel the unresolved ache between your legs strengthen once again.

“Um- what did you imagine?” You ask.

Wanda makes an adorable thinking face and you realize it is more than just physical attraction you feel for her all the time. It’s really that you love everything she does.

“I imagined you’d eat me out,” Wanda says. “And then I’d do the same for you. Sometimes I’d imagine you wearing a strap and making me feel so good.”

“Fuck, Ms. Maximoff,” you say. “I hope I can live up to that.”

“You will, baby. I’d like to eat you out now,” Wanda says. “May I?”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, anticipation somehow calming your nerves.

Wanda slides down your body and leaves kisses as she goes. She makes you feel worshipped in every move.

“All of this for me?” She asks as she reaches your wet underwear. She slips them down your legs and dives in.

Wanda kisses your pussy before she switches to licking. She seems to know what she’s doing and you wander how.

“Mmm, all of this wet pussy is for me?” Wanda asks. She wants a reply.

“Yes ma’am. All for you, Ms. Maximoff,” you say.

“Try again,” she instructs.

“Oh- um-“ you stumble out. She goes back to work while you figure it out. “All for you, Mommy?”

“Good girl,” Wanda says. You got it right.

You lay back on the bed as Wanda takes your clit in her mouth. She’s enjoying this, having you all wrapped up in her.

“Fuck, mommy. I’m going to come,” you say. Wanda picks up her pace, sucking your clit like it’s her favorite thing in the world.

Soon, you’re coming for her. She revels in it, licking you clean and taking her time kissing back up your body.

Wanda kisses your lips at last and you can’t help but smile into the kiss. She does the same.

“That was everything I thought it would be,” Wanda says, a content sigh falling from her mouth. She lays next to you in bed and you two look at each other.

“Even better,” you say. “Let’s do it again sometime?”

“Why not right now?” Wanda asks.

You won’t argue with that. You let her kiss you deeply again and you tangle your hands in her hair.

You’ve never been so glad you went to over to your friend’s house.

And Wanda doesn’t regret convincing you to sleep with her the night before, even though you don’t remember the red tendrils telling you to go to her room.

That day it was all your choice. She just decided you needed a little push.

One day maybe she’ll tell you there’s magic coursing through her veins, but for now you’ll sneak around and sleep with her again and again.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #milf!wanda #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff comfort #I really loved this idea #hope y’all do

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fourmoony · 6 months

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𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

remus lupin x f!reader

smut. p in v. creampie. unprotected sex. fingering. sex with a friend. language. 18+ content minors DNI.

3.2k - masterlist

summary - reader can't sleep. remus helps out. not with warm milk, though.

i'm supposed to be working on an assignment for college. but remus lupin is taking up space in my brain. so, enjoy :)

The air feels stuffy, too hot against your slick skin.

You blow a breath out in frustration, a piece of hair stuck to your forehead refusing to budge and you groan. The house is silent apart from the droning on of the electronic device between your legs that does little to abate the feeling clawing at your insides and it only makes you more frustrated. The lights in your bedroom are turned off, the world outside asleep. Everyone apart from you. You’ve spent two hours tossing and turning, and a further half hour trying to cure the ache between your legs.

It’s futile. You’ve tried everything. Every speed your overly expensive vibrator has to offer, every position, you even got out the glittery pink dildo Marlene got you for Secret Santa the previous year, leaving it out to the side after coming to the heart-breaking decision that it simply wasn’t big enough.

You feel like nothing will be big enough. Nothing feels right, nothing feels good enough, nothing is even close to tipping you over the edge. You shift, further to the left, and whine again, pressing the vibrator to a higher speed. It moves as you press the button, and the feeling of closeness is gone just like that. You growl, pushing the blankets off in a fit of rage and choose to stare at the ceiling in defeat. It’s not going to happen. You should just accept that. But you’re worked up, horny, and too fucking clammy.

The flat is quiet. Remus is asleep – the only reason you’re so nonchalant about the noise of your vibrator still buzzing against the mattress next to you, taunting you. You reach to turn it off, sitting up and putting your hair into a makeshift bun. You stare with narrowed eyes at the shadowed outline of the sparkly pink atrocity of a Secret Santa gift. It was given as a joke to make you blush. Your friends like to tease you for your innocence. It’s not something you ever would have bought for yourself. You’d blushed furiously and everyone laughed. It was addictive for the first few weeks, being able to explore your own pleasure. But now. Now, it doesn’t feel enough. Doesn’t feel as good. As big. As filling.

It’s a quick thought, a fleeting thought. A memory that makes your cheeks flush and your eyes close in embarrassment. Remus, fresh out of the shower, two seconds away from closing the towel around his waist. He hadn’t locked the door. It was an accident. You hadn’t meant to walk in on him. You’d been half asleep, bursting for a pee, and he hadn’t locked the door. Even worse, you hadn’t meant to look. But he was wide eyed and frozen, and your fight or flight had you trying to assess every part of the situation. And his nakedness was a large part of the situation.

You’re not proud of it. But you’d looked. And you liked what you saw.

And now.

Well, now, you can’t stop thinking about it. About Remus. Kind Remus who makes you tea on cold mornings, puts your pyjamas in the dryer for you when you get out of the shower, who cooks you dinner and leaves it in the oven when you work the late shift at the café down the road. He’s kind and attentive and always there to lend a helping hand. You feel silly as you clamber off your bed, knowing there’s a high likelihood that Remus will tell you you’ve taken his kindness to its boundaries.

Your feet pad quietly down the hallway of your shared flat. The under counter lights in the open plan kitchen at the end of the hall illuminate the space enough to see. Remus’ door is closed, but you twist the handle and push, wincing when it lets out an annoying squeal. Remus rouses at the sound, squinting sleepily at you as he turns. He lets out a breath, sits up on his elbow and pulls back his blanket to offer you the space beside him.

It’s not the first time you’ve climbed into bed with Remus, but you still shift nervously on your feet, biting at your lip.

“You okay, love?” Remus asks, voice deep and croaky.

It makes you flustered in your reply. Voice quiet, unsure, “Can’t sleep.”

Remus nods, reiterates pulling back the blanket to make room for you. You cross one leg over the other in front of you, fiddling with the metal daisy chain ring on your middle finger. Remus got you it when you got into university last year. It’s your favourite piece of jewellery you own, overpriced tennis bracelet from your overcompensating parents be damned. He catches your nervous tic and his eyes narrow, his head tilts, messy hair flopping sideways with the movement. There’s a slight stubble on his chin from running late this morning and skipping his daily shave and he’s sans pyjama top, having clearly also felt the heat.

He sits up fully and the blanket pools around his waist. His skin glows in the low light of the moon through the window beside his bed. He’s beautiful. This you’ve always known. Now, it’s tenfold because you’ve seen all of him. And all of him is what you want, in this moment. Your face is flames as you edge closer until you’re hovering beside his bed.

“Have you tried warm milk?” Remus asks, his voice almost teasing.

“Don’t want warm milk.” You pout.

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you, trying to sus you out. He knows. He must know something. You’re hardly being subtle. Remus’ lips twitch in a smile when you squeeze your legs together in front of you, again, lip between your teeth, eyes watery.

“What do you want?” He asks, voice breathy.

He wants you to say it. But you can’t. You won’t.

“Rem, please,” You whine, “I’ve tried everything.”

His hand reaches for yours, pulls you until you’re straddling him. His lips are a centimetre from yours, hot breath fanning out over your mouth. You press down hard against him, lips pouted. He doesn’t let up, just raises his eyebrows. A question. What have you tried?

“I couldn’t get the angle right with my vibrator,” You whisper, cheeks bright red and warm to the touch, where Remus’ thumb is gently rubbing back and forth, fingers cupping your wobbling jaw, “Then the thingy Marlene got me wasn’t-“ You huff.

Remus chuckles softly, endearingly.

“It wasn’t enough.”

Remus smiles, “You want my help?”

You nod eagerly, “Please, Rem.”

He’s on you in a second. Lips and tongue and teeth, so hot and heavy it knocks the breath from you. His hands fist the thin material of your shorts, at your waist and you bend into him, hands running up his sides, over his shoulders, into the hair at the nape of his neck. He’s hard beneath the flannel of his pyjama bottoms. You can feel it against the crease of your thigh. It makes you whine into his mouth, shifting until you’re perfectly aligned over him. His grip focusses on your arse cheeks when you grind down, a bruising grip that you relish in.

His hands push you forward, you pull yourself back. His lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw, down your neck. Your head tilts back, panting for breath, lost in the pleasure. Your stomach tightens the harder his grip gets, the harder you press down, the faster you move. You feel like a seedy teenager, dry humping yourself against him. Remus’ teeth nip at your collarbone, only to soothe over it with his tongue. You whine again, making your impatience known, but Remus doesn’t speed up.

He looks up, lips mouthing at the underside of your chin until you tilt your head back up to look at him. His pupils are blown, eyes hooded, lips curved into a sinful smirk.

“So needy.” He mumbles into your lips.

You push down harder in response. Remus grabs your hips, stills you. You pout, doe eyes watery. Remus tuts, shakes his head, “You want my help, we do it my way.”

He shifts until you’re lying beneath him, legs hiked up around his waist. He doesn’t waste time in stripping you. Your shirt, then your shorts, your panties following. He throws them across the room, and they fall into the shadows of his darkened room. You’re glad they’re gone. Your body feels like it’s burning up under his touch, featherlight as he traces the goosebumps across your skin. He presses kisses in the wake of his fingertips, to your collarbones, your chest, the tops of your breasts, your stomach, navel.

His lips are warm, wet, pressing kisses to the insides of your thighs. You’re high strung, keening, and needy. He comes back to face level, and you grumble, deep in your throat. So close. He was so close to where you need him. He’s smug. You’re about to protest when he slides a finger into you. Your mouth opens, head pushing back into the pillow. His fingers are long, but slender, and it’s not long before he adds another. Your back arches, eyes closing. The minute you close your eyes, Remus stops. You look up, furious, to find him smirking something evil down at you.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl.” He whispers, nose bumping yours.

You comply. Remus resumes, fingers pumping steadily in and out. When he’s knuckle deep, he curls them and your body jerks in response. It’s too much and not enough, a dizzying euphoria of Remus’ casual confidence and his skilful fingers. His thumb brushes your clit gently, the bundle of nerves swollen and begging for attention. You moan his name, thighs squeezing against his hips where they’re splayed open. It urges him on, he whispers quiet encouragements – good girl, that’s it sweetheart, you’re so wet for me – and you continue to writhe beneath him.

“Rem,” You gasp, hand encircling the wrist that’s pumping in and out of you, “Need you.”

“Soon,” He promises softly, lips pressing to the swell of your breast, teeth lightly nipping at the skin there, “Want you to come on my fingers first.”

His thumb moves in tighter circles, his fingers curl deeper, move faster. He adds a third, the stretch burns but in the best way. Your jaw opens on its own accord, a string of moans emitting from your throat, and you arch into Remus. His eyes meet yours, blazing with lust.

“C’mon, baby,” He urges, voice sinfully deep, demanding. “Come for me.”

You clench around his fingers, and he groans as you gush around his hand, voice high pitched, your grip on his shoulders vice like. He’s surprised you don’t snap in two with how high your back arches. His fingers pump you through the rush in your veins, his quiet reassurances blacked out by the sound of blood rushing to your ears. Your head spins and you see white as the orgasm you’ve been chasing for what must be hours by now crashes over you. You babble nonsense, buck against Remus’ fingers, mouth open, eyes wide, back arched and head pushed violently into the pillow beneath you.

Remus hovers over you when your breathing evens, eye’s a little less clouded, and his usual concerned look on his face. You smile dopily up at him, eyes bright.

“Good?” He asks.

It’s a double ended question – you good? Was that good?

You nod.

“More.” You whine, attempting to pull him closer with your legs around his waist.

“You’re insatiable.” He laughs lightly, head bending down to peck your smiling lips gently.

You nod in agreement, head tilted as you look up at him, “I’m blaming you.”

“Of course.” Remus nods, placating you.

He shimmies his pyjamas off, kicks them off the end of the bed, and comes back to crowd your space, again. Hard, he’s much bigger than you saw from Shower-Gate. Your mouth waters as his hand wraps around his dick, pumping a few times before looking back to you. His face softens when he notices your lip trapped between your teeth.

“Baby?” He questions and you soften.

“That’s,” You sigh, embarrassed, “That’s not going to fit, Rem.”

Remus laughs, the apples of his cheeks rounding out, his teeth appearing from behind his lips. His head hangs over your shoulder and you hide in his hair, mortified. The hand that isn’t supporting his weight runs softly up and down your thigh. You groan to show your mortification, heels digging into Remus’ tail bone to try kill his laughter.

“Rem,” You protest, letting a chuckle of your own slip.

Remus looks up, eyes soft, lips pressed together to stop his laughter, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, pretty girl. I’m not laughing at you. No one’s ever said that before, you just caught me by surprise.”

You giggle, squeezing his waist with your thighs, “They’ve definitely thought it.”

Remus shakes his head, “We don’t have to.”

It’s your turn to shake your head, “I want to. I really want to.”

He smiles, leans in to kiss you. When he pulls away to pump himself again, you let out a low breath. He brushes the tip against your folds, wet and puffy, a couple times before he pushes in slowly. He groans, you moan. You’re tight, fitting around him like perfection. He goes slow until he’s buried to the hilt. You allow yourself to get used to the feeling, whimpering softly when his thumb comes to circle your clit again, working you up.

“That’s it, baby,” He speaks softly, so softly, and you moan.

He pulls back, pushes back in. Takes it slow. Allows you to adjust.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need the raw pent-up aggression you’ve seen Remus show pervs at bars when they touch you inappropriately. You need angry Remus, who threw a book at the mantle place when your parents missed another birthday. You need the Remus who tries so hard to hide the aggressive side of him but can never fully rid himself of his primal urges, of that white hot fury and determination.

“More,” You breathe, “Faster. Harder. I need more, Rem. Please.”

You’re babbling, begging. But Remus complies. He snaps his hips forward and you all but scream. He groans, breath hot and heavy against your neck. He’s attentive, hips attacking your pelvis. His wooden headboard slams against the wall, your hand reaching up to hold on and stop you from sliding further up the bed. An arm wraps around your waist, pulling you up, closer to him. He feels deeper at the new angle, hips battering into yours. He’s relentless, hitting every spot you need.

You’re babbling nonsense, but so is Remus. Words of encouragement, words that tell you how good you’re taking all of him, how tight you are, how perfect you are. You’re meeting his every thrust, hips grinding against him, the stubble creating friction that tightens the coil in your stomach.

Remus attaches his lips to your shoulder, biting down as he pounds harder against you. You say his name like a mantra, unable to think of anything other than the feeling of him, all over, everywhere, filling, stretching, pounding.

“Rem,” You whine – so close. So, so close – “Come in me.”

Remus’ head snaps up, pupils blown, mouth hung open. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t falter, “What?”

“Pill. Just,” You gasp when he hits that spot, “Come in me. Please. Wanna feel it.”

Remus moans. Dirty and deep. He fucking moans.

He’s relentless, sweat dripping from his forehead, he releases your waist, hikes your thigh up over his shoulder, you scream. He urges you, tells you sweet things, details how he’s going to fill you up, bites the skin of your calf. His other hand reaches down, draws tight circles that have you seeing stars. You scream his name, loud enough for the entire street to hear, using the leverage on his shoulder to lift your lower back off the bed.

The feeling is dizzying, all consuming. It’s feverish, frantic, a wild chase to the end.

You clench, he hits the right spot, the sting of his teeth on your calf emulates up your leg, the stomach muscles holding you up clench, and he calls you baby, all at the right time. You see white. It feels like your entire body explodes, lights on fire, crashes and burns. You convulse, twitching and screaming, broken words and moans of his names, clenched vice-like around him.

You’re begging. Begging him to follow, to finish in you, even in your pleasure.

You’re still floating, but coherent enough, when Remus grows sloppy, uncoordinated, drops your leg from his shoulder, falls forward, hands at your sides to hold himself up. He jerks, groans, his head falls into your shoulder, and you whine, happily, dopily, when you feel the white-hot spurts of his come against your walls.

He’s breathing heavily, both your bodies slicked with sweat. He drops his weight onto you, and you welcome him happily. Your legs wrap around his lower back, you both wince with the movement. You can feel the slickness between you both, the way he’s dripping out of you. But you’re comfortable, lips pressed to his damp hair. You trace shapes on his back until he comes to, pushing up to press his lips to yours.

The clock on his nightstand reads four in the morning.

He gets up to leave and you whine, “Don’t go.”

Remus chuckles, “Just going to get a warm cloth. Be back.”

You allow him that, grateful he had the idea. You hear him running the tap in the bathroom and he returns with a warm cloth. He’s gentle when he wipes you clear. You wince and flinch, blushing when Remus presses gentle kisses to your thighs as he works. He whispers softly between kisses how pretty you are, how well you did.

He discards the cloth in the wash basket by his door and returns to the bed.

He groans as he settles, holding his arm out for you to fall into him. You do so, swinging a leg over his thighs. It’s then that you realise you’re both still very naked, and your shyness returns. Remus traces shapes on your arm, tucking his head over yours, lips to the crown of your head.

“I can hear your cute little brain running laps, you know.” Remus teases.

You roll your eyes, push your face further into his neck.

“I just came to you in the middle of the night for sex,” the post coital dread sets in tenfold, despite feeling the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks, “I’m so sorry, Remus.”

You feel Remus shrug, “Don’t fret, sweetheart. I was more than happy to oblige.”

“But-“

“Get some rest, honey. We can talk more tomorrow.” He assures you, pulling the blanket further up your naked bodies.

You concede, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the stubble tickling your lips, “Okay.”

He pulls you closer, settles in. You allow sleep to wash over you, let the relaxation in your bones pull you under. It’s a dreamless sleep, a comfortable sleep, wrapped in Remus’ arms.

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glow-in-the-dark-death · 3 months

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You Remind Me Of Her

"Jason wake up I want to go see the new store!"

He felt his blankets get tugged off of him. Groaning he scrunched his face into the bed.

" Let me sleep another hour or two, it was late when I got in bed."

" And who's fault is that?"

He grabbed the nearest pillow to him and flung it to where the voice was coming from, even with perfect aim he wasn't surprised when he heard it connect with his wall and not a body.

"Yours! If you hadn't dragged me with you to look for those old music disk with you I would have gotten to bed earlier."

"Liar you would still have gone to bed late for whatever other reason."

He sat up rubbing his eyes, hissing slightly when he opened them not expecting his lights to already be on.

"Okay, what store are you making me go to today Martha?"

He dodged a swat to the back of his head. Grinning he headed towards the kitchen hearing her huff and following him.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me grandma! Honestly, you're worse than a nipping dog"

"Well at least I'm not emotionally constipated like Bruce"

"True, but we're not speaking about my son right now we're speaking about you. Now hurry up! I saw the prettiest set of crystal glass cut tea set by the window when I was passing by!"

"Give me like 8 minutes to eat and get ready okay, will grampa be joining us?"

He turned to look at her in the eyes

Her green eyes, just barely glowing. The rest of her being transparent like fog in the early morning, her heels floating a few inches of the floor.

Martha Wayne his grandmother

His dead grandmother now a ghost

Just like he used to be

He walked into the small store the small bells jingling above his head.

"Look Jason they have such pretty things!"

His eyes followed her as she floated over to the display case. Quickly he took his phone and held it up to is ear.

"Which one's were the ones that caught your eye?'

He developed the habit of speaking into the phone when he was outside in public view while speaking with a ghost, that way nobody would give him a second glance looking like a normal phone call.

"The one with lilies and forget-me-not's."

His eyes quickly found the pieces and grabbed them. He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"Is this all you wanted from here?"

The 'Do you want to continue looking?' in his gaze. She gave a quick glance around before turning back to him.

"No just that for today, we can come back another day when you don't have plans."

Jason glanced at her while he quickly paid. Leaving the store he turned to fully look at her while still having his phone up to his ear.

"Plans? I don't have any plans for today?"

A sly grin made its way on to her face

"Well I thought it's been a while since you visited Alfred and since we're in the area we might as well visit, no?"

Jason sighed, " Fine, only because it has been a while plus if I don't go you'll just keep naggin' me."

Martha gave a small huff of amusement

"That's my boy! Now! Let's get some nice tea for our visit, it would be rude to go empty handed, how about some nice cinnamon tea huh?"

"Your obsession with cinnamon tea has started to spread to me, especially the weird way you like it."

"Gasp! It's not that weird, honestly I started drinking it like that because of my cravings while I was pregnant and just never stopped. But don't lie to me, you like it just as much as I do even with the peach jam."

"Fine maybe I do."

He looked down at the time, "Let's hurry up a buy that before it gets too late."

He knocked at the door, shifting the bags in his hands as he waited for Alfred to open the door.

Martha waited outside with him even though she could easily phase her way inside.

Jason heard light footsteps before the door glided open.

"Master Jason what a wonderful surprise to see you here please do come in."

Alfred herded Jason inside taking note of the bags he held.

"Did you go shopping before coming here?"

"Uh yea, some of it is for you."

"For me master Jason?"

"I thought it would be rude to come empty handed so I bought tea."

"Very thoughtful of you, lets head to the kitchen to prepare a cup shall we."

Jason quickly looked towards Martha raising a brow

"You go enjoy your tea with Alfred I'm going to look for Thomas, I'll be back by the time you leave"

Jason gave a quick smile in return before quickly following Alfred into the kitchen.

"Hey Alfie we can use the new tea set I got today, let me just wash them real quick."

He turned around, not noticing Alfred's confused stare

"You bought a tea set master Jason?"

Jason turned around after quickly wiping them dry.

"Yeah look, they even have some lilies and forget-me-not's on them, saw them by the window of the shop and thought why not?" He half lied.

"I see, I haven't seen these two flowers paired up together in ...a very long time."

Jason turned towards the kitchen entrance as he heard two pairs of footsteps nearing. Both Bruce and Dick appearing in the doorway.

"Oh good you're both here, I'm about to prepare some tea master Jason brought over for us ,sit down please."

They walked over to the table, Dick quickly hugging him.

"You didn't tell me you were dropping by!"

"Get off, and yea it was impulsive decision."

"Hn, good to see you chum."

"Yeah, you too B."

Alfred walked over with the tea prepared, placing it on the table.

Dick leaned over to see the tray.

"What kind of tea is it?"

"Master Jason brought us cinnamon tea."

Dick looked over at Jason tilting his head, "Since when do you drink cinnamon tea?"

"Since none of your business."

Jason took a small sip before sighing, "Hey Alfred do you have any peach jam?"

Alfred hesitated before looking at him confused, "Peach jam? What for?"

"I like to mix it in with the cinnamon tea."

Alfred's eyes glazed over for a second before heading towards the refrigerator, "...I see, of course let me get some for you."

He quickly came back with a small jar and placed it on the table near Jason.

"Thanks Alf." He scooped up a spoonful and dipped it in his cup.

Bruce and Alfred glanced at each other.

Dick looked up from his own cup, "Does that actually taste good? Can I try some!"

He made a grab at Jason's cup, he quickly pulled it out of reach, "Don't touch mine! If you're really curious make it yourself."

Dick slumped on the table whining, "But what if I don't like it, I'll ruin my tea!"

"That's not my problem"

"Oh come oooon just a little sip!"

"No"

"Pleaseee!"

"Ugh you're worse than a nipping dog, fine!"

Before Dick could celebrate they heard twin startled noises. They turned around and Bruce was covered in tea in what seemed like he spit out his tea, both Alfred and Bruce were staring at Jason faces pale.

Jason glanced around confused, "What? Why are you looking at me like that."

Alfred straightened up clearing his throat, " Apologies master Jason you seem to have startled us a bit."

"With what?"

Bruce finally stopped coughing, "Nothing, you just...reminded us of someone."

Just an Idea

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privitivium · 2 months

Note

how about a really creepy bottom yandere?

fuck yeah. my random thoughts on this idea... roommates. cw;; perverted creepy ass freak, stalking, noncon - dubcon, ur drunk

actually imagining this mf leaving you creepy voicemails of him masturbating and whining out your name - muffled, sobbing as he cums and havjng no way to block him because you couldnt see his number. he so boldly applying to be your ... lil roommate,,, an introverted guy who you saw as a mere background dude who always dressed in dark colors - always wearing zip-up jackets too big for his tiny frame... must .. not think... him sabotaging everyone else somehow and managing to be the only one left. youre desperate - and somehow couldnt figure out where you recognized him from. his voice...

you, unwilling to actually make friends even though you knew he probably needed someone... but you just figured some creep like that would have a plethora of internet friends. no way you would be seen with someone like that. someone... who you catch staring at you in the corner of your eye., always fucking lurking!?!?! until, you were on the market for some help. a roommate... grumbling to yourself yet accepting him??? dude you must be fucking in love with him then...

dude immediately taking advantage of being your roommate bro. ,,, when ur gone and hes home, rooting through your things and being a mess with a throbbing aching cock with a huge smile and flushed face that burned with excitement. fucking freak.

ㅡcreepy yan roommate who shoves his fucking underwear in your pillowcase and you have to feel around wondering what the fuck is it and disturbing ur sleep and you pull it out just to see its a pair of fitted boxers damp with... you didnt want to think about it. merely throwing them away and not wanting to wonder who put them - it's fine, it's fineㅡseriously! no need to dwell on it; as you throw your pillowcase and ... pillow that was now dirty into a hamper.

you didnt know how the fuck to confront him and he abused that fact. acting so normal and nonchalant around him - knowing that its him. you must like it, huh?? you must if you're not making a big deal about it... giggling to himself, all giddy and shit...

ㅡburying his tearful, flushed visage into his pillow that had your shirt as the pillowcase; face down ass up,,, in nothing but his hoodie he's always seen wearing. fingering himself desperately; imagining you coming into his room and seeing the sight of his hole presented and mounting him wordlessly,,, filling him up with that thick cock he knows you has - catching a glimpse as you exited the shower dripping wet despite your clear attempts to dry yourself off...

nearly sobbing and whimpering please over and over again, mumbling your name so pitifully and trying hard to control his breathing as he edges his poor sensitive prick,,, fantasizing about you making him wear girl clothes and introduce him as your girlfriend to your other jock friends. yes,,, yessss,,, embarrass him and show him off that he's yours, he wants everyone to know that youre his t-too,,,. make him cum over n over again for your pleasure wherever you want - stuff a fucking vibrator in him and have it on full blast and laugh at him while he tries to walk in public,,,, gasping for air as he finally shoots his load onto a pair of your already dirty boxers he grabbed from the hamper...

then sleeping soundly. and waking up with a flushed prick waiting to be jerked off in the morning just because of his lovely dream of riding you in your bedroom,, he was so grateful for that dream,,, high pitched little noises leaving his saliva-slick plump lips as he grinds against his bedㅡ

ㅡand, at a party. you being invited - and inviting your introverted roommate who was more than happy to come along. you were really hoping he'd decline, but it is a courtesy to ask after telling him your plans you feel... he was a little out of place - a new face is all. his plain black hoodie and black skinny jeans matching the other aesthetics of other people - telling him that he can hold onto your shirt and let you lead him around to a little denser part of the frat house. fuck you just know you're gonna get taunted for bringing him... it's best to stay clear of those fucking blockheads instead. hanging out in the kitchen, surprising that it was the less populated area and taking advatange of that - merely hanging out before your thoughts seem to spring from your lips without permission-

ㅡ"y-ou know... y-you're just... so weird, man..." trying to keep your tone leveled with a humorous airy wisp to it - trying hard not to grimace or express any kind of repulsion by pressing your lips to the beer bottle you were nursingㅡbut he knew exactly what you were trying to say! getting all squirmy and fidgety as he tugs his hoodie down.

was he? was he a disgusting fucking freak? yes, tell him... tell him just how fucking awful he is, please. his smiling lips trembling, lifting his fingertips to his cheek that was burning to the touch - "am i? what... what do you mean weird?" he frowned, tilting his head slightly, playing innocent to your tipsy frame pressing against the doorway coolly... ugh, you didnt mean for it to come out cruelly... just - "weird in a good way, man. dont worry." you try to reassure... "you're weird in a cool way." you didnt want to deal with him crying. He seems the sensitive type... dont fucking look at me with those huge ass eyes you fucking creep look AWAY.

ㅡ"you're fucking gross, dude." yes, yes he is.. hes so icky-!! so horrible and awful!! his smaller frame pressed against the sink of the bathroom, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck and he nearly cums right then and there - what has come over you? the scent of beer on your breath... it's ... gross but... it makes him ache. your lips so close to his - fuck just- please kiss him- shove your fucking tongue down his throat and make him chokeㅡ

ㅡhim trying to... take advantage of your drunken mind in a way... to get what he wants. hes so awful isnt he??? after asking you to go elsewhere, you mindlessly drag him along through the crowds by his sleeve making his poor lil heart flutter ... being pressed against each other and him delibrately pressing his plump ass into your groin and nearly whining as he feels the imprint of your soft cock against him - you stiffened, instinctively wrapping an arm around him to pull him to your side and he nearly whines.

before ... you were dragging him up the stairs and mumbling - he couldnt make it out but he was jittery - ecstatic for whatever reason. you were dragging him some place quieter and he couldnt help but think dirty,,,...

your thick arms wrapped around his body and caging him in,,, he can f-feel the poking of your erection against his front - and hes sure you feel his..,,,, turning him around and shucking his pants down - him squealing in shock but so willing?!? ruthlessly gliding your lazily slobbered over fingers around his rim - fingering him before shoving your dick where your fingers lay and ignoring his soft yelps of surprise after he makes no move to get away; only bending over and trying to spread himself...

fucking him in thr bathroom, rocking into his taut hole that was surprisingly easily to worm your way in - and muttering you know everything while pumping your slick fingers into his mouth dirty with his pre - muttering harshly about those dirty fucking voicemails and how creepy he is to leave his dirty boxers where you rest your head and making him fucking cry and shake his head in denial - he likes this sort of thing.,,, hes so in bliss, so fucking happy and rocking back into you bro,,, yes let him be as creepy as he pleads for you,,, whining on your digits after you pull his hands away from his cock with your free hand. fuck he'll take anything ,,,, freak.

#creep yandere #ocs =͟͟͞͞★#male reader #x male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #x top male reader #x dom male reader #yandere x male reader #yandere male x reader #yandere m x m reader #yandere male x male reader #sub male character!!!#bottom male character !!!

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happyhauntt · 1 month

Text

a grey day — spencer reid.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: spencer meets the newest member of the department.

─── pairing: spencer reid x autistic!medical examiner!reader.

─── warnings: fluff, reader is autistic & a mom, spencer's iq gets slashed to sixty when he talks to pretty girls and it's my favourite thing. no use of y/n. reader is performing an autopsy so mentions of blood but nothing too graphic.

─── word count: 1.3k.

YOU KNOW IT'S A GREY DAY before you even manage to open your eyes.

And really, you’re expecting it ━ this whole week has been filled with pale pink and lime green with solid, unwavering turquoise blobs in the middle, because you started your new job on Monday and the apprehension, the excited, the nausea, they've all been stirring up inside you for days now.

Waking up to a grey day doesn't hit you as hard as it usually would.

Still, you feel sluggish when you drag yourself out of bed ten full minutes after your alarm has gone off. The shower is a no-go this morning ━ if you’re honest with yourself, the shower is a no-go most mornings, when your skin feels soft and sensitive and your brain can't cope with the idea of a barrage of hot water raining down on you ━ so you slap on some deodorant and spray some dry shampoo in your hair, tugging it up into a rough ponytail.

You take your time with your makeup, though; strawberry lipgloss and lots of concealer, a heaping of eyeliner and your favourite gold hoop earrings are exactly what you need to feel better. When you step out into the hallway wearing your comfiest black jeans and a jumper that's probably smart enough to pass the dress code, hearing your daughter giggling in the kitchen, the grey day lightens a little.

It gets even better when your sister-in-law presses a travel mug of iced coffee into your hands.

"Jackie, I fucking adore you," you say around a mouthful of delicious, soul-quenching caffeinated goodness. You’d half-expected Jackie to have something planned. Four years of living together means that Jackie tends to know about your off days before you do.

The other woman suppresses a smile, coupled with a sharp look. "There's a three-year-old right there!"

You snort, waving your hand nonchalantly. As if you don't have this conversation every single day. "Nellie knows not to repeat what I say." You turn to your daughter, your heart swelling three sizes as the little girl at the kitchen table looks up from her drawing. "Nell, baby, what am I always telling you?"

"Don't go home with strangers."

"Well, yeah, but I meant the other thing."

The little girl brightens, revealing a missing front tooth. "If Aunt Jackie won't say it, then I shouldn't say it."

You giggle, scurrying over to drop a kiss on your daughter's forehead. "Exactly right, my little love."

When you turn back toward the kitchen counter, your sister-in-law's face is painted with an affronted look, her mouth half-open. "I can say bad words!"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'll believe that when I see it."

By the time you leave the house, sliding into your car with a second cup of iced coffee in hand, the day has lightened to a pale blue. You hope it will stay that way.

"YOU LOOK SO TIRED, DUDE."

Well, alright, he'll admit it wasn't the first thing he was expecting to hear when he entered the coroner's office. It's been a while since he ventured down to the morgue, sure, but Dr. Peterson has never talked to him like that before, and he's fairly certain not that much has changed in the three-or-so weeks it's been.

And Spencer's observant. He prides himself on being able to notice things, tiny details other people seem to miss, things that are so obvious to him that he can't comprehend how normal people can't see them.

So if anyone asks, he'll never admit that it took a full twelve seconds before he realised that the girl in the white lab coat, elbow-deep in an open chest cavity, is definitely not Dr. Peterson.

"Uh..."

It's the most intelligent response he can muster in the moment.

"It's okay," you add, hardly bothering to look up from the corpse. "I'm tired too. And you're not the worst-looking guy in the room." You jerk your head at the dead guy on the table. "Although I'd say that's a pretty low bar, all things considered."

"Where's Dr. Peterson?"

"He retired. Or got a promotion, I think? Not totally sure." You shrug, raising an eyebrow at him. "I thought I'd met most of the department already, but I don't recognise you.” You tell him your name, squinting at him through your plastic glasses.”I’m the new... coroner, medical examiner, pathologist, dancing monkey? They didn't totally specify the position when they offered it, which I think says more about me than anything else."

Spencer blinks. He's not totally sure he's ever met anyone who could talk nearly as fast as him before. "Dr. Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit. Nice to meet you."

"Oh, cool!" The liver in your hands gives a wet squelch as you drop it into a metal dish. "I'm under the BAU! I answer to your Section Chief, um, Agent Strauss? She's a little harsh, huh? I'd, uh, shake your hand, but..." You hold both hands up, mimicking a surrender, showing off the blue medical gloves slick with blood.

An inkling of a smile creeps onto Spencer's face. "I don't shake hands."

"That's fair," you say with a shrug. "Can I help you, Dr. Reid, or did you get lost looking for the cafeteria?"

“No, actually.” He remembers the files he was supposed to show you and reaches into his satchel. The intensity of your gaze is like lasers on his skin and he can’t help but fumble, almost sending a stack of documents scattering across the floor.

When he looks back up at you, cheeks flushed rosy, your stare hasn’t wavered even slightly. Amusement lingers in your eyes.

He clears his throat and holds out the files as if they are a peace offering. He doesn’t quite understand whether a battle has been fought, but he definitely feels like he lost one. “Hotch— uh, Agent Hotchner sent the Howard County ME’s report on the Richardson case. He wanted you to look it over and sign off before they file it for the District Attorney.”

You nod at him. The corner of your mouth quirks a little at his stuttering. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so immediately endeared to somebody before, but there he is, blinking at you like a deer caught in headlights. It’s so adorable.

“Sure, I can do that,” you say. “Just pop it on the desk over there and I’ll get on with it when I’m done here. Can’t get any bodily fluids on the paperwork, y’know? That’d be a nightmare.”

The volume of your laugh startles him, and he jerks slightly. The sound of it is loud and warm and it should really freak him out, considering you’re wrist-deep in a cadaver and cackling like a maniac, but it doesn’t. It’s actually kind of sweet.

“If that’s all, Dr, Reid, I’d like to finish rooting through this guy’s insides so I can sew him back up.” Your words are an obvious dismissal, but he doesn’t feel offended, not with the kind smile still adorning your features.

He nods and backs away. His feet feel a little numb. “Sure thing. I’ll, uh, catch you later. Have fun!”

“I’m sure I will.”

You sound like you’re about to laugh again. Have fun, really? He knows he’s fairly inept when it comes to women, but have fun? He scurries out of the morgue and back into the land of the living, and as Spencer boards the elevator all he can think is that he’s so glad Derek wasn’t there to witness that.

He’s certain he’d never live it down.

Meanwhile you resume your autopsy with an odd, fuzzy feeling in your chest. You start to hum beneath your breath, a song that must have played on the radio while you were driving to work.

Your grey day feels a little pink at the edges.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #* chapter update.

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 1 month

Note

bakugo and reader meeting again after a long time like maybe katsu has been away on a mission and he just misses us so much 🥹

anon this is literally such an adorable request!! This has been sitting in my drafts for the longest time cus i could never rlly figure out what i wanted to do with this, but as soon as i got the inspo i got to it !! im so so sososuuupperr sorry for making you wait so long and if you’re still sticking around, I LUB YOU !! anyways, i tried honoring this lovely sweet request as best i could, if you’re reading, i truly hope you enjoy (and all of you ofc!!) <33

fem reader, jus pure fluffy fluff ! katsuki n reader watch selling sunsets bc my mom does lmfaoo this ones for you momma, kissing, biting (lol will i ever stop), lemme know if i missed sum else !

katsuki regrets planning this surprise.

it’s been one month. exactly 31 days since he’s last seen you. one month he had to survive off of late night phone calls and good morning messages.

katsuki had slowly but surely started climbing up the ranks as a hero ever since he’d gone independent and this mission was a huge steppingstone to victory.

except it involved him going abroad for a month.

you’d congratulated him when he’d told you. you hugged him hard and offered him your brightest sunshine smile, you’d made him dance around your little living room with you, celebrating his ‘rise to stardom’ as you’d called it and he remembers chuckling about it. you’d even gone out of your way and made his favorite to celebrate. but now katsuki understand you were probably doing that so as not to worry him.

he's known you for a long while and he knows you know he can tell when you’re lying, so he was sure you were happy for him. (you can’t fake anything from him and especially not the way you smile, he’s committed that to memory). and you truly looked happy for him, but he knows youwell enough to know that you were also devastated to find out he was leaving for so long. he’d seen the way your eyes widened and your shoulders dropped. but knowing you, you probably powered through it so as not to make him worry.

so stupid. you’re stupid. and he misses you so much.

despite you being in different time zones you make it work. he made sure to be updated daily and called you every time it was time for you to go to bed to make sure you got some well needed sleep and not staying up late mindlessly scrolling through your feed.

you send him pictures of everything happening throughout your day and you’d hound him about his, asking him if he’d eaten well and if he’d beat up any bad guys. and no matter how minuscule his actions were you’d always praise him. as somewhat childish as he knew it was katsuki still walked with his head up high for the rest of the day. if it was to impress you and make you proud, he’d be on the clock 24/7. but, knowing you, you’d get mad at him for overworking himself.

he misses you so much.

he’s on the plane. making his way back home to you a day before he’d told you he would be, his surprise. you’d been so excited, your squeals ringing through the phone, katsuki just couldn’t wipe the smile of his face and goddamnit he tried.

“ou, i can’t wait ! i missed you sooo much, katsu !” you chirped, he couldn’t wait to hear your voice in real life again instead of through his phone.

“yeah, missed you too sweets” he hums, packing up the last of his stuff.

“you better be ready cus when you get back, m’not gonna let you go for a whole month.” you tease, giggling. katsuki huffs out a laugh, looking down at his luggage ready to go as he’d fully finished packing up while you were on the phone.

“uhuh~?” he muses “better be ready for me when i get back. yer not goin’ anywhere either. no bathroom breaks when we're cuddling.”

“ew,” you snort “what am i supposed to do if i have to pee ?”

“that sounds like a you problem, sweetheart.”

you laugh and laugh and katsuki smiles, he couldn’t wait to be able to hear and see it again. expect not one phone call away, like he’d told you he always would be when you’d accompanied him to the airport all teary eyed, but in real life.

except now he’s starting to regret not just coming home on time.

don’t get him wrong, the sooner he gets to you the better. he’d meant it when he told you he wouldn’t let you go and as somewhat embarrassing as it is to him that he had gotten so clingy, being away from you for so long really did a number on him. distance makes the heart grow fonder his ass, he was more than fond of you when he was laying next to you every night instead of all alone in his hotel bed.

but right now he’s way too antsy. he wants to tell you about how he’ll be home soon to hear you squeal and giggle, but he sucks it up in favor of surprising you.

it’ll be worth it. at least that’s what he tried to convince himself when he finished packing up. and on his way to the airport. and on the plane..

who even thought of this stupid surprise idea anyway ?!

he can’t sit still. he has to stop himself from tapping his foot against the floor and shuffling around in his seat. the guy in front of him keeps reclining his seat back but it doesn’t bother him that much, because all he needs is to remember your smile and remember he’s coming home to you, and he feels his nerves settle. recliner-seat-guy be damned.

it’s pitch black by the time he’s off the plane and finally back home. when he checks his phone he sees it’s 2:09 am and you’re no doubt dead asleep by now, he smiles at his phone screen when he sees you smiling back at him.

his limbs suddenly feel heavier the higher the numbers show on the screen inside the elevator to his floor. his body buzzes with excitement but for some reason he can’t help feeling nervous. katsuki knows it’s stupid because you tell him every day how much you miss him and how excited you are to see him. all he wants right now is to see you.

he fumbles around a bit when he fits his keys into the door to walk into your tiny shared apartment and when he finally walks back inside, katsuki is reminded why he does this. why he’s been gone for exactly 31 days.

he kicks his shoes off quietly and sees yours left right by the door like they always are. like he always wants them to be. he wants to come home to your shoes by the door and to you smiling at him brightly and greeting him, or beckoning him over to the couch because you’ve been waiting all day to watch your favorite show with him. (he’s forbidden you from watching any episode of selling sunsets without him, the last time you did he got cranky at you for a good 2 hours.)

katsuki sneaks over to your room, socked feet padding over to the door quietly cracking it open. he’d managed to convince you to move in with him a few months ago, claiming it’d lower costs and yapping about how you practically lived here anyway. it was barely anything to get used to, it felt natural, like this was everything his life was leading up to. but he wants to give you everything you deserve and this cramped little apartment is definitely not it.

he wants to give you a cosy little house, or a penthouse or even a fucking mansion if that was what you wanted, as long as he could be there with you he didn’t care. he’d do whatever he could to get you everything you dreamed of at the flick of a wrist. and that’s why, as annoying and lonely as it was to be without you for so long, he’d pushed through.

katsuki needs to save people, and he wants to. but everything he does, he does with you in a little corner of his mind.

you’re fast asleep like he’d expected, katsuki huffs out a laugh, brushing at your cheek with his finger. his heart almost explodes when you try to lean into the faint touch and he can’t help it anymore. he sits down by your side and kisses your cheek. once, two times, three times and a little one on your nose. if he wasn’t feeling all mushy he’d be an asshole and bite you, but you look so cute he’ll put that off for now.

your nose scrunches up and your eyebrows furrow at the wet kiss onto your skin, you instinctively go to rub at your face with a whine, katsuki chuckles to himself when you open your eyes and the lack of distance between you both meaning your quite literally face to face with him.

“katsu..?” you mumble sleepily “ ‘m i dreamin’ ?”

katsuki chuckles, eyes soft “glad to know ya dream about me, but nah, this isn't a dream.”

you blink sleepily, and katsuki recognize those bright eyes he so loves gleaming the more you wake up “katsuki !” you squeal, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him straight against your collarbone, since he was practically nose to nose with you before he knocks against your chin but you both don’t care.

katsuki crawls into bed and wraps his arms around you tightly, snickering into your neck and you into his hair. you squeeze and squeeze him so hard he thinks you’ll suffocate him but he couldn’t care less, squeezing you like he’s trying to mold you to him.

you breathe him in and he flips you both over with you giggling uncontrollably. you topple over and land straight into his chest. you lift your head up with stars in your eyes like he’d hung up the moon for you and katsuki smirks back softly. because he would. he’d hang up the moon and the stars and more.

all for you.

“you’re back !” you chirp, kissing all over his face. katsuki feels his cheeks hurt, this is the hardest and longest he’d smiled in a month.

“how’d you figure that one out ?” you roll your eyes at his sarcastic remark, blowing lip bubbles against his cheeks as punishment. he playfully pushes your face away from him and you laugh.

“i thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow..” you quickly reach over to your nightstand to check your phone then throw it back down.

“it is tomorrow.” katsuki quips, already getting back to being a smart ass, you roll your eyes but you can’t wipe off the happy look on your face.

“you know what i mean, asshole” you jokingly narrow your eyes at his smug face and press a finger against his cheek “later tomorrow i mean. was gonna surprise you and you….out-surprised, me” you pout at your ruined plans.

he turns his face so he can sink his teeth into your pointer finger and you quietly squeal in disapproval, he smirks “was gonna, but couldn’t wait anymore. needed to see you.” he pulls you closer to run his nose against your pulse point “felt like i was gonna go fucking crazy if i stayed with those other bastards for a second longer.”

you giggle, placing your hands against his shoulders as he kisses up and down your shoulder and neck haphazardly “ don’t be mean.” you scold.

he lifts his head up to raise a brow at you, hands running up and down your sides “you mean to tell me you wanted me to stay away? didn’t miss me ?” he jokes, squeezing your hips harshly.

“of course i did. missed you so much i felt my heart would tear up sometimes..” you smiles sadly, running your fingers through his blond strands, he frowns "but i'm glad you're back now."

"yeah, and m'not leaving again for a damn long while." he squeezes you so hard he lifts you up in his lap a little bit and a surprised noise leak out of you. he lifts his head up from your chest to smirk at you in challenge "you're gonna have to get used to me and my big mouth all over again."

your heart squeezes, you feel like it'll bursts from happiness and katsuki wonders if he' supposed to feel this happy, if it's okay to be this content with one person. but only for a moment, because he's greedy, so so greedy for you. and he doesn't care if it's wrong because he gets to make you happy, to make you smile and laugh, to have you.

and katsuki does everything for you, so he gives himself to you without a second thought.

you hum, placing your hands against his soft cheeks to press your lips to his "got a month worth of your big mouth i need to catch up on." you whisper before finally closing the distance. you both immediately sigh in relief at the contact, being able to feel each other like this again. you smile into the kiss and katsuki thinks he's never felt more at peace.

after a month, exactly 31 days, katsuki's finally back.

bonus :

"hey." katsuki ask, you snuggle into his side and hum.

"did you watch any episodes of selling sunsets without me ?"

you stiffen.

"n-noooo..." the sheets shuffle and crinkle when katsuki looks down at you. you shrink into yourself.

"maybe one or two.." you squeak out meekly. immediately he's flipping you over and pouncing on you.

"fuckin' traitor." he growls.

"i'm sorry i couldn't help myself !" you wheeze when he starts tickling your sides, kicking at the sheets "it's been a month !" you screech trying to catch your breath.

"yeah i know that !" he exclaims, ignoring the way you're thrashing around as he mercilessly tickles you.

"i'm soooorryy !!"

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #bakugo x you #bakugo x female reader #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugou drabble #bakugou x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader

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burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 8 months

Text

HONEY, I’M HOME ─── jackson rippner ✧♤

ೃ⁀➷ “You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.” — ‘Letters to Milena’, Franz Kafka

pairing. jackson rippner x assassin!reader

summary. jackson hires a prostitute the night before meeting his target. only thing is, you’re not a prostitute— you’re an assassin hired to kill him. but he catches your eye, and instead, you keep him for yourself.

warnings. swearing, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, slight housewife kink, kidnapping, drugging, pretty toxic relationship lmao, somnophilia, dubcon, hate-sex kinda, guns, choking, stockholm syndrome, cervix fucking, jackson gets a taste of his own medicine basically😭, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. OKAY i know i said it was going into the direction of dom!reader but i got possessed and now,,, now we have this hate sex filth🫡

When Jackson comes to, the very first thing his mind registers in your perfume. It’s sweet and vanilla-y and entirely intoxicating, sending his mind whirling back to prehistoric days, childhood days, a vague mother figure he’d long forgotten about pressing sugar cookie dough onto a metal pan.

Instead, as Jackson’s eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the bright, warm lamp-light curling around him and the various furniture in the room, he sees you, sitting in front of him on the floor.

Your knees are pulled up and tucked under your chin, and it seems you’ve fallen asleep, your face peaceful and serene as soft inhales and exhales of breath leave you.

You look like a pure angel, dolled up in a silk lace dress and neat bows so pristinely Jackson swore he could see a halo resting above your soft locks, but he knows you’re someone who can kill — has killed.

Jackson had been staying in a motel, readying himself to meet the target he was stalking the next day — some politico's daughter, y’know, perfect blackmail material — when you’d knocked on his door, dressed in a skanky skintight dress and garter belt, promising some fun for a flimsy fifty.

Prostitution was illegal in this state, but Jackson had some money and time to kill — plus, if he didn’t get something now he’d probably fuck his target, which wasn’t really encouraged considering he could get attached, all that bullshit job professionalism. He wouldn’t, obviously, but his higher-ups didn’t think the same.

So he agreed; you looked stupid enough, and with that nice pair on you, those sweet curves, you were bound to be a good fuck. And you were definitely enough for him to handle— handle killing, he meant. It’d be easy: get you a little tipsy ‘cause it was his “kink” or some shit like that, kill you when you’re coming, dispose of your body, and meet the target in the morning.

But then you’d kissed him, hungry and desperate and rough, and totally, completely, slipping the pill tucked under your tongue down his throat.

Jackson realized immediately, his hands darting to the gun he had tucked in his belt, but you punched him in the stomach and the jaw before he could even undo the safety. And then he’d done it: he’d swallowed the drug, and the effects were instantaneous, the connection between his thoughts and his limbs losing focus, body sluggish like he was wading through water.

So suddenly had the situation had gone from him hiring a prostitute to getting fucking drugged by one, and he felt his composure slipping, the outrage burning in his lungs. Jackson thought himself to be a logical, well-thought out man who planned things to the tee, and this was not fucking following his plan.

“What did you - do t’ me?!” He spat, voice growing slurred, bent over and clutching his stomach.

“Mm,” you considered telling him, pursing your lips and watching him sway back and forth, “just a little something to calm you down. But, honey, I think you better sit down… it's not a mild drug.”

“Answer my fucking—“ Jackson started caustically, then felt that familiar pins and needles sensation appear in his arms, then spread to his legs, before finally falling to the floor.

“See?” You cooed, standing above him. You watched him struggle against the drug for a moment, before grinning and pulling him up off the floor onto the bed.

Jackson listlessly fought your touch, slowly thrashing and kicking at you; his limbs may have grown numb, but his inhibitions had not lowered whatsoever, nor his paranoia. Good paranoia, in this situation, just not so good that it kicked in before you shoved a paralytic down his throat.

You rolled your eyes, sitting down beside him and pushing his head onto your lap, digging your elbow into his chest to make him stay in place.

Jackson choked at the pressure, blinking rapidly. “Who th- the -- fuck are you?”

“I’m an assassin, honey. I’m gonna kill you — or, y’know, I’m supposed to kill you.” You beamed at him, “but I can’t do that, now can I? That’d be a waste of such a pretty face.”

Jackson’s brows knitted exasperatedly, mouth contorting to speak, but nothing came out. In fact, his mouth hadn’t been moving at all— his face had grown numb, now blankly staring up at you.

“There we go,” you said happily. “The drug’s all kicked in now, hasn't it? I’ll speak freely, ‘cause y’can’t answer me anymore, not even scream or cry.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping like you were finally able to fucking relax, and began petting his hair before continuing. “You’re a naughty one, aren’t you? Stalking that politician’s daughter… were you gonna fuck her? Threaten her dad, have some fun, then kill them both?”

Jackson’s breathing grew more furious, eyes widening— or, they would’ve, if he could move. This was about his job, about the target, not just some fucking freak accident and a crazy prostitute.

You frowned, shaking your head. “You’ve gotta do more research on the people you blackmail, honey— Mr. Politican’ll do anything to keep his little princess safe. Even murder.”

You then got up, and Jackson watched you pull something out of your tights, unable to respond or protest or even fucking move, frozen still on the cheap motel mattress.

“But like I said, you’re too cute to die like that. I think I’ll keep you for myself.” You winked, before pricking him in the neck with the needle that was hidden in your tights.

His breath hitched, but there was no use: black quickly curled into the edges of his vision, and one second passed, then another, then he was out.

That brought him back to now, waking up with his arms handcuffed behind him and his legs tied roughly to a wooden chair. He rustled, pulling against the cuffs as quietly as possible, gaze still obsessively trained on your every micro-movement.

But it didn't matter: your eyes opened the moment you’d heard his breath catch and stutter, and you got up lightly, dreamily, like you were some figment of Jackson’s imagination rather than a psychopathic kidnapping assassin.

“Morning, honey,” you whispered, getting up off the floor, rubbing your eyes and yawning. But he didn’t respond, still pulling at his restraints, eyes thinned and focussed.

“Are you mad at me?” You whined with a frown, circling around his chair and playfully covering his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry. I’ll buy some cute lingerie, give you a little show… do you like lace? Or maybe leather?”

Jackson’s nostrils flared, growing irate and incredulous at your antics, and he snapped. “Do you really think you can keep me here? Make me play fucking house with you?” He shouted groggily, body still feeling the aftereffects of not one, but two, drugs.

You blinked numbly, hand finding his face, and you pressed his cheeks together, making him look up at you. “I won’t make you play house with me, Jackson. But it's the only thing you can do. You’re dead.”

Your tone had gone cold, using his real name instead of your pet-one, expression going blank and completely unfeeling at his words. Then, you fumbled for something on the wooden vanity beside you two before lifting it up to his face.

It read: TERRORIST GROUP LEADER’S REMAINS FOUND IN RED-EYE FLIGHT WRECK.

Jackson’s lips parted, feelings riddled half in shock and half in utter fury, gaze shaky as it flitted back and forth between you and the newspaper you were holding up. “I’m fucking—“

“Alive, I know. That’s kinda the point,” you finished his sentence with a chuckle, shaking your head like any of this was a joking matter. “When a plane goes down and catches fire, burning everybody, they won’t individually check who's who, honey. If there’s a name on the seat, there’s someone in it, and they’re dead… you’re as good as dead.”

Jackson’s eyebrows were still knit, but he suddenly stared straight ahead, listening to you silently and trying to make sure you were still too focussed on explaining theatrically to realize he was about to dislocate his thumb.

He could deal with the stool later — he just needed to get his arms free and escape. What with your grating voice and the fucking pronunciation of death you’d forced upon him, god, his fury was rising quickly, and he wanted nothing more right now than to fucking kill you.

You finished your explanation, peering deeply into his bright blue eyes, and you were about to wrap your arms around his neck and press him comfortingly to your chest when he successfully freed himself, and his hands shot out from behind him to strangle you.

His fingers curled around your neck extremely easily, tightening and contracting around the thing snugly. Jackson was seeing red, the anger accumulated from every little insane fucking thing you did to him bursting.

You struggled against him, your mouth opening and closing pitifully, leaning down into his grip— until your lips tilted upwards, a devilishly cheshire smile digging into your cheeks like it was an expression God never intended you to make.

Jackson only realized you’d taken his gun away from him when he felt the tip of the barrel kiss his temple, cold and clammy. He was still disoriented, and didn’t exactly comprehend all the facts ‘till they fucking punched him in the face. Or, in this case, threatened to shoot him point blank.

“L’mme - l’mme go, h’ney,” you whispered raspily, your eyes stuttering in their socket as he pressed deeper. Simultaneously, completely on instinct, you pressed the gun further into his skin.

“You’re too fucking weak to fire that gun,” he growled, digging his thumbs into the neat notch in the middle of your neck, his fingernails scratching bloody marks into your sensitive skin.

But you frowned weakly, and then Jackson heard that all familiar click, making him blanch. The strength in his hands didn’t falter, however— it got angrier, more desperate, like you wouldn’t automatically shoot him if he just translated his wrath into his grip.

“I d’nt- w’nna k-kill you,” you shook your head a bit, but both your threats remained the same: his hands making you go lightheaded, go blue, and the gun in yours making him sweat, the image of you splattering his brain against the wall clear as day.

Jackson felt your finger twitch, and he closed his eyes, grip going tense then faltering completely: if you shot him now, there was no point holding on. But you did the same— you thought he’d snap your neck right then and there, so you pulled away.

Just as quickly as you two had attacked one another, your resolves’ had crumbled, murderous intent clearing the room like someone had opened a window and let it all out. Silence filled it back up instead, a steady tension permeating with it, and it was fucking suffocating.

“What do you - want from me, exactly?” Jackson questioned first, several long moments later, words slow and collected. He’d try to calm himself and hide his anger away for later, because he now knew that you meant for him to meet only two ends here: forever with you, or forever dead— and neither were ends he was intending to have.

To escape, crawl under your nose and perhaps kill you along the way, he’d need to know the rules— play your little game. This cat and mouse mess could be done in a flash, and he fucking knew you had a weakness. He could feel it in your touch, how you gripped him, the lonely warble in your insane words.

Sure, you kidnapped him and were calling him honey, treating him like he was your plaything, but Jackson had always been good at reading people, even before he’d become an amalgamated mess of an assassin, terrorist and blackmailer: you needed someone in your life— be it a husband or a hostage.

You got down on one knee, looking up at him through your wet lashes, breathing still ragged. One of your hands took his own dislocated one, while the other fished through your silk dress pockets, pulling out a gold band ring identical to the one gleaming prettily on your left hand.

You didn’t answer his question saying for you to marry me or for you to love me— both things Jackson would expect you to say, especially with your oddly profound obsession with him (despite the fact he was positive you’d only known him for a few weeks at most.) No, you’d smiled, a lovely duchenne one, rosy-cheeked like a fucking schoolgirl confessing to her crush, not an assassin who’d kidnapped him, and said, “For you to be mine.”

Your hand curled around his dislocated thumb and quickly snapped it, cruel and rough but perfectly back in place, before you slipped the ring onto his finger shakily, and brought his hand up to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“You’re mine,” you repeated in a whisper, sounding every bit like a warning rather than a celebration.

ii.

After a few days of living with— or, more accurately, being held captive by you, Jackson thought he had you all figured out. It usually only took a few days for him and a target to become acquainted anyway; mutual acquaintance or not.

He found that the warmer he treated you, the more freedom he’d have. Like, after you slipped the ring on his finger, you undid the ropes tying his legs. A reward, you’d said, for accepting your… unity.

But you still switched out the clinky metal cuffs for zip ties. “I can’t have you doing that nifty little thumb trick anymore, can I?” you explained. “But I still want you to walk around. Take a tour of the rest of your life, honey.”

Then, you told him you had to go to work — to which Jackson rolled his eyes, considering assassination wasn’t exactly what he’d call work, though, he would also have to call himself a hypocrite — and left. Jackson wasn’t shy about roaming about the house, especially to look for a fucking escape, but he was firstly confronted with the sheer size of the place you’d locked him in.

Where he’d first waken up was the master bedroom, long and wide with a king poster bed and canopy, a pair of couples vanities side by side, two walk-in closets and one large ensuite. The rest of the house was the same, being two stories tall and terribly extensive: Jackson ran out of fingers on his hands to count how many rooms were in it.

By the time he’d combed through the entire house — discovering a measly two possible escape routes in the process — it was dark outside, and you entered through a front door Jackson couldn’t find for the fucking life of him.

It was appalling, firstly how spontaneous and carefree you were whilst simultaneously thinking of everything that could go wrong, and secondly, how up to par your skills were to his. He wasn’t one to gloat, but he knew just as well as his coworkers that he was a large step above the rest— and it seemed you were, too, the only equal he’d encountered in his line of work… and the only person who’d bested him.

“Honey, I’m home!” You sing-songed in the hallway, poking your head into each and every room for Jackson’s familiar form.

Jackson had settled back in the master bedroom, sitting on the very chair you’d untied him from that morning, and when you finally found him you cooed. “Aw, baby, you don’t hafta’ stay here all day.” You said, lifting his chin to look up at you.

Jackson grit his teeth, his temper suddenly getting the best of him, and he spat at you. But the effect didn't work nearly as well as intended: you didn’t even wince, merely blinking and bringing two fingers to your cheek and wiping the slick off. You pouted at him for a second, made your eyes real big and pitiful, before kissing him on the cheek… and shoving your spit-slicked fingers into his mouth, making him gag.

It looked like you were enjoying his suffering, before pulling away a moment later. “Well, no matter,” you said, brushing his actions off and regaining your happy mood. “I know you weren’t really here all day, honey.”

Jackson’s lips parted, eyes thinning suspiciously. “What the fuck are you—“

You suddenly pulled out your phone, showing camera angles from all throughout the house… and more startlingly, previous footage of him, scouring the house’s windows and poking through the various furniture and rooms earlier in the day. “You are quite the curious cat.”

“You have a camera?” He asked indignantly. Honestly, he should’ve expected it: it’s like, what do you get when you have a captive itching to escape and an obsessive, head-over-heels captor with plenty of money on her hands?

“Several,” you preened, “so don’t bother escaping.”

Then, you hooked your arm into his and dragged him to one of the (many, many) dining rooms.

“Now, I’ve never exactly had a hostage before,” you offered, pushing him into one of your cushy walnut dining chairs, “so I just realized you haven’t eaten. God, I’m so sorry, honey, you must be starving.”

With that, you ducked into the large kitchen a room away, and then returned holding a steaming plate of something, setting the dish down in front of him. “It’s not exactly, y’know, fine dining,” you said, picking up the spoon hidden in the food and scooping up some peas, “but it’s home-cooked. Not my home cooking, obviously, it is -- was, a target’s. I had a plate earlier, don’t worry, it’s good.”

Jackson stared at you, mind spinning with the information you were nonchalantly throwing at him: you were feeding him, your hand holding the cutlery, his mouth around it like he was fucking six, and the person who had made this food was dead, having had their throat slit or something.

But there was another thing in Jackson’s mind, a tiny, weak voice within him that told him to just shut the hell up and eat the damn food. His survival instinct, probably, but then it went on to think that you weren’t that bad, feeding him and keeping him safe from the police in this nice, grand house— and Jackson squished the voice. No fucking way in hell was he experiencing early stage stockholm syndrome.

At his reluctance, you frowned, and forced the spoonful in his mouth. “Eat,” you scolded, and fed him till the whole plate was finished.

He ate, of course, not because of the little bitch voice in his head, but because of the fact that he actually was really fucking hungry. The gesture seemed to warm your heart, for some fucked up reason, and you later sat in the livingroom with him and loosened his zipties.

There was a brief moment, however, that Jackson felt even an iota of fear: when his hands were slightly free, he immediately reached to grab you— he was taller, stronger, and could certainly defeat you in mere moments.

But your sneaky fingers tightened his restraints at the drop of a hat, your head butting his jaw so he fell back on the couch. “Try anything,” you warned, tone suddenly dark, “and I will break your fucking wrist.”

At his tentative, jaw slightly dropped, shaky nod, a cold sweat beaming down from his temple, you dissolved into a fit of laughter at his expression and undid his ties once more. This time, your hand held his in an intimate death grip, thumb curled sweetly around the wrist, that warning still ringing in his head.

He was learning how to play the game, though. His captor’s behavior. What you liked, what you didn’t. The extent of your mercy.

Jackson cleared his throat, searching for a question that might make you open up. “…What’s your name, anyway?” Yes, he didn’t even know your fucking name, and he doubted that the tacky prostitute name you’d given him initially was your real one.

You looked up at him, surprised he’d speak first, nonetheless to know more about you. So, you indulged, and told him your name, things you liked, didn’t like, your hobbies… all normal people stuff— y’know, first date stuff.

“I keep forgetting you don’t know a thing about me,” you confessed, leaning your head on his stiff figure, “‘cause I’ve known you for a very long time.”

Jackson’s breath hitched. “How so?” he said, trying not to give away his eagerness; he was going through all the steps he did when first meeting a target, like being kind and sweet, respectful and attentive, really buttering them up and coaxing information from them, before going in for the kill. In Jackson’s current case, the “kill” was a kiss.

It’d be something chaste, nervous, like he was unwittingly slipping into your trap and couldn’t help the warmth bubbling within him toward you, so you would fall into his; hook, line, and sinker… and maybe completely undo his zipties. He’d have to lay low for a few days, obviously, and build up that obsessive trust of yours, before going in for the literal kill.

But then again, Jackson, with that delirious little ego of his, kept forgetting your skills were up to par with his, and you were the first and only person to ever fucking best him.

You grinned thinly, knowing exact what he was doing, noticed the pattern his words went in, trying to shepherd the conversation to get the answers he wanted, and you pulled away from him. “I’ll tell you another day, honey. M’gonna go to bed,” you whispered sleepily, redoing his zipties. “Join me. I don’t like it when you tire yourself out.”

And so you left, and Jackson watched your hips sway, legs carrying you down the long hallway into the master bedroom. As soon as you were out of direct view, he sucked in a sharp breath, seething angrily.

Fuck, he thought, the realization of his predicament settling within in him at last. He’d always been told this: if you didn’t believe you could escape your situation within the first day, you would never escape at all. He thought it a silly mantra, because he’d always devised an escape plan after thinking on it for a few long moments.

Never did he think he’d find himself in a situation where that actually fucking applied, never did he think he’d meet his equal, and never in his entire, terrorizing existence, did he think he’d be helpless.

But Jackson had to persevere. Had to. He had not survived every terrible incident thrown at him in his tired lifetime, just to accept this. And so, he went to bed with you, the zipties rubbing his pale skin raw, and he watched the shadows on the roof shift with every hour that passed.

He did not sleep, certainly not with you by his side, and though it looked like it, you did not either. It was the paranoia of two terribly similar people; gaze dancing in the dark and never finding each others, waiting for the moment one of you snapped and you had to attack or defend.

The next day, and the next day after that, he went to bed beside you. Just like that, turned into weeks turned into months turned into seasons changing, and the zipties became cloth became your hand holding his.

It was a culmination of feigned loving, fake vulnerability, and pretending he’d gotten Stockholm syndrome that got him to this point. Every “honey, i’m home,” or kiss or hug or pet-name you stabbed into him, he returned with a “welcome home, honey”, a peck on the cheek, a hand holding yours, his venomous tone switched like a light into something sweet, soft.

One night, with his newly ziptie-free arms wrapping around you, your back nestling sweetly against his torso, he has to remind himself that it is not real. None of it was real: he was not your husband, you were not his wife, you did not love each other, you were not normal fucking people— you were the captive and the captor.

Jackson had to remind himself he didn’t actually love you, because that night he thought: if you used him, he would use you. He would take you whenever he wanted, like how you used him. A man has needs, he thought, and being trapped in this house with you meant those needs could be met.

It reminded him of when you first met— not the kidnapping part, of course, but of the kissing and the touching, your tits pressing softly against his chest, his hands following the swell of your ass.

With a start, he realized he’d had some kind of unintentional celibacy enacted upon him: he couldn’t fuck anyone other than you, obviously, having been trapped in that house, but he never entertained the idea of fucking you because he hated you. You don’t fuck the bitch you’re planning to kill any day now.

But your warm body against his awoke something in him, his forced celibacy unable to survive against the pure lust he felt filling him now. You were beautiful, undeniably, with pliant thighs and delicate curves he could see himself getting between animalistically, roughly, a kind of morbid sexual revenge against your captivity of him. It helped entirely that this was the most vulnerable he’d seen you, completely without any weapons, curled warmly into his side.

After studying your breathing for a few seconds, ensuring you were still asleep, Jackson carefully slipped away from you to kneel in front of you in the middle of the bed. He admired your night getup: those silk dresses you adored to wear at home, and absolutely no underwear.

He then pried your soft thighs open slightly, dipping his head between them and losing himself in the sweet scent of your cunt, before chancing a stripe up to your clit. He flattened his tongue, wanting to collect your taste on it completely, and you merely sighed, turning over slightly and widening your legs in your sleep, like you somehow knew what he was doing and wanted it.

He pressed his mouth up to your cunt fully now, his nose hitting your mound as he devoured you, tongue filling every crevice and fold you had like he was starving. Your small whimpers and breathy sighs grew louder now, more frequent, and then Jackson suddenly pulled away, satisfied with how he readied your hole.

Jackson shimmed himself out of his boxer shorts, a pair with silly little hearts he’d never seriously buy for himself— you bought them, as soon as you’d captured him, clearly having fun with the utter control you could display on him, down to his fucking undergarments.

He shook himself slightly, refocussing on the matter at hand: fucking into your glistening cunt. There was something oddly empowering about doing this to you when you couldn’t protest, regaining some control over his own fucking life by terrorizing yours.

But he wasn’t sure you’d fucking care anyway: he knew you liked to peek around the corner when he was showering, “accidentally” walking in when he was in the middle of changing, not-so subtly bending down and pressing your ass to his crotch.

He sighed slightly, rubbing his hand up and down on his hard length in the dark, before lining it up with your entrance. Jackson muffled the groan that curdled in his throat with his large hand, breathing shakily and finally pushing past your slick folds. You were soaking, and he didn’t know if it was because of his previous foreplay or if you were just naturally like this, all horny because he slept beside you at night. He wouldn’t put it past you if that was the case: your obsession with him was clear in every single way.

You made a noise in your sleep, and Jackson froze, hands instinctively coming up to press lightly against your throat — an unconscious thing on his part, formed when his hands had been zip tied and the only thing he could do was choke you, unable to grip any weapon properly. But you didn’t wake up; your face merely screwed together, before smoothing out and returning to blissful unconsciousness.

Jackson let out a sigh of pleasure and relief, your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. He gripped the sheets beside your head and began thrusting in and out of you: at first gently, afraid to wake you up, but as the minutes dripped past, Jackson grew desperate, fucking into your cunt roughly. He wanted to abuse your tight little pussy, stretch you wide open and take you for everything you had.

“Fuck,” he grunted under his breath, snapping his hips harder against yours, “Fuck!”

His exclamation of sexual satisfaction startled you awake, but he didn’t notice how your eyes moved behind your eyelids, too focussed on pounding his rock-hard cock into you. For all the insanity and behavioral issues God gave you, he certainly made up for it in the way he crafted your cunt: extremely warm and easily wet, a sticky hole that sucked him in but was still cramped, like it was begging him to force your walls open.

“Honey?” you murmured foggily, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were about to speak again, when Jackson suddenly found your g-spot, and rammed continually into it, making a filthy mewl leave your lips.

“Fuck, you woke up?” Jackson cursed, looking at you for the first time. His thrusts were unrelenting, though, now not caring if you’d woken up and just wanting to feel your hole squeeze around him again.

“Jackson, I was - sleeping,” you squeaked out, hands moving to his back and digging your nails into the skin.

“That’s kinda the point,” Jackson mocked, tone sarcastic and peeved like you were interrupting him. “And don’t fucking fight it,” he warned angrily, hand leaving the mattress and roughly squeezing one of your tits through the fabric of your nightdress, “‘cause I’m not stopping ‘till I come.”

You pouted fake-sadly at his words, but your back arching gave you away, keening when he kneaded your tit too meanly and made a shock of pain run up your body. “Feels so good,” you grinned sweatily, but he just rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he sighed, throwing his head back, “didn’t fucking ask what you thought.”

He pushed your face to the side so he was looking at your jaw, more content with treating you like just some hole, but you didn’t care: he, your darling, was fucking you. He wanted you so bad he fucked you when you weren’t even awake. God, you could’ve kissed him right then and there, but he probably would’ve hit you. (Not that you would mind… but you wanted your honey to take control, have it his way for a bit.)

Jackson rutted into you fast and selfish, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at the violent way he fucked you: your sick pleasure came at the expense of your weeping cunt, which was trembling in the stinging pain he was inflicting, cockhead stretching you wide.

Then, Jackson’s hands slid down to your hips, so he could shove his cock deeper into your cunt, pressing his weight so heavily onto your chest you could barely breathe. He groaned; you were clearly affected by the action, bearing down on his cock suddenly, and he reveled in the ecstacy.

He fucked you slightly and slower, and you only realized what he’d been doing when he leaned down to get a better angle, bullying the head of his cock against your cervix: he was trying to fuck into you further, push his dick so close, so snug against your womb that there was no doubt in hell his load would impregnate you. His actions were dictated not by any sense of reason, but by a crude, carnal desire, wanting nothing more but to make you scream.

And you did scream alright, a breathy, brutal scream; a mix of whimpering pain at the way his head pushed against you, and of shameful, drooling pleasure, his delicious length making you feel fucking bloated, you were so full.

One of Jackson’s hands reached up to your head to pull your hair, making you whine at the pain of the tug, and he growled out a string of curse words, before thrusting his cock so angrily it was like a punishment, surely bruising your cervix, and releasing his thick load deep inside. His come flooded your cunt, pumping you full of his salty cream, fucking you still.

Jackson then panted raggedly, feeling your gummy walls tense at the pain of him pulling out, flopping down beside you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you absently, pulling his boxer shorts back up to his hips.

You bit your lip as you clenched your thighs together, whining slightly at the pain blooming deep within your abused cunt, and at the loss of pleasure— you hadn’t come after all, Jackson being entirely selfish in his fucking. “Uh-huh,” you murmured weakly, feeling the strength in your body leave you completely. “You’re a mean one, honey.”

“Good,” Jackson said, chuckling darkly. It was the first laugh you’d heard rumble out of him the entire time you’d held him captive, and you drank it in: it was pleasant and breezy, like cold water on a hot day. It was certainly out of place, such a gleeful laugh after savagely fucking you, but you welcomed it anyway.

Jackson suddenly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush to his chest. “M’gonna use your hole whenever I want, and you’re gonna take my cock no matter what, ‘till you’re begging me to stop,” he growled in your ear, making goosebumps break out on your clammy skin. “Least you can do for fuckin’ kidnapping me, you psychotic bitch.”

“Oh,” you purred, batting your lashes up at him, “it’d be my pleasure to be your fucktoy.”

Jackson grinned, at you, for you, and you thought to yourself that kidnapping him was the best thing you ever fucking did.

iii.

Somewhere, muddled between you kidnapping him, the two of you almost killing eachother, and him fucking you dumb, Jackson caved, and he started to believe he actually loved you. His mind didn’t have any qualms accepting that you were his new life— living in your house, only knowing you, and only ever talking to you.

Maybe it was stockholm syndrome, or those delicious fantasies you’d whisper in his ear at night (“Y’know, honey, it’s really you who should be saying you’re home. What do you think, huh? You coming home from a long day of work to me, in my panties and an apron, no bra and a sweet, home-cooked meal on the table. Dessert’ll be, of course, me,”) or maybe it was just you.

You, despite your terrible job and seriously obvious insanity, being the epitome of fuckable: horny when he was, a talented, needy mouth, able to take anything he gave you to while always going back to being tight as fuck, and intensely eager to have him.

You, who controlled his life, and he, who controlled you. The way you treated each other was probably illegal somewhere, but in that house not even the fucking law mattered. (You still remember when Jackson got his gun back, and he teased your clit with the cold tip till you creamed down the barrel… a terribly memorable story that always made you groan.)

Jackson was extremely well aware that there was something strange about your relationship, and not just the fact it occurred in the strangest way possible, but that he was essentially giving up to you— losing his inhibitions, at least against you. Something about… putting his well being in your hands. His needs. His wants. His life. Spending the rest of his life with you; in this house, accepting life and no escape.

But still, for a man like Jackson, who had long since accepted that he wasn’t cut out for a life of normalcy, a life of love, this certainly wasn’t a bad way of living. He had a house nicer than anything he’d ever lived in, didn’t have to work, could do whatever he wanted all day, and got to pound his cock into your perfect little pussy every single night.

#wowee this has a lot of words and a lot of warnings #this is filthy i apologize #cillian murphy smut #jackson rippner smut #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner x reader smut #red eye #jackson rippner

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thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months

Text

Rainy Season - Part 2

What You Gonna Do?

Azriel x Reader

A short follow up to Rainy Season since you all have been so gracious with your responses - Initially I planned a time jump for part 2 but decided to give a taste of the aftermath of her leaving. Things will eventually look up for our girl, she’s just going through it right now. Stay tuned for more! I’ve decided to make this a short series.

Part 1 Part 3

Warnings: cheating, language

Azriel

Who wakes you when the morning comes?

Azriel awoke to rays filling the room with brightness. Shit - he’d overslept. Why hadn’t Y/N woken him? He looked over to find the bed cold, as if it had been vacant for hours.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he wandered to the kitchen, lacking its welcoming aroma of fresh coffee and the sweet and savory aromas of pastries and bacon. No, it was totally empty.

Where was she?

“Y/N?” He groggily called out into the house.

Silence.

Slipping on a pair of pajama pants he wandered to the door. The chill of the house whipping against his bare, muscled abdomen.

Perhaps she was basking in the sunlight on the patio. He always loved how she looked in the morning rays - a deity in her own right. He should probably tell her that sometime.

Padding to the front door, two things caught his attention.

One, his clothes were strewn over top of his bag and two, a note was scrawled in her messy handwriting.

No - not a note. A list of rhetorical questions.

“Who wakes you when the morning comes?

Who gives you all she has to give?

Who fulfills all her promises?

Who sees the good in you?

What are you gonna do when I’m gone?

Where you gonna go when there’s nobody home?

Who’s gonna love you when you’re all alone?”

He dropped his head. Fuck - things were good last night. What happened? As he bent back down to clear up the strewn undergarments, the strong, sweet scent of Elain wafting into his nostrils.

No - those questions were not rhetorical. They were a plea. “Who?” Who is that person to him?

Clutching his chest he realized just how terrible a mistake he’d made when he fucked Elain.

—————

Y/N

The warm rays of the Summer Court and the overwhelming weight of crushing heartbreak greeted me bright and early. A mockery to the pouring rain I’d traveled through last night, showing up at my grandmother’s door like a drowned rat.

Instead of chastising me for how long it had been since I’d paid her a visit, her brown eyes only met me with compassion. She knew me well and every ounce of pain on my face spoke the words that I couldn’t get out.

She pulled me into a bone crushing hug, ran a hot bath and steeped a pot of tea before laying in bed behind me and running her fingers through my hair until my heaving sobs turned to shuddering breaths and eventually a deep sleep.

It was a strange feeling. It had been too long since I’d seen her and yet, she showed me more love and compassion in a span of three hours than I had in the last three years.

Thank the gods the rays woke me early as I had to make it to the palace in Adriata immediately.

“Leaving me so soon?” Grandmother asked as I hurried out the door. “Sorry! I promise I’ll be back before lunch.”

I’d only met Tarquin a handful of times but sensed that he was a kind, benevolent ruler. Still, I expected to meet with his officials before being granted access to his office but when he’d heard who was here to see him, he immediately made time for me.

By the end of our meeting, he’d granted me renewed citizenship in the Summer Court and wrote to Rhysand effectively barring Azriel from his court. Careful to not create tensions in the court, he revoked the current ban on Cassian so long as he could keep himself from destroying any more buildings within his court.

Despite my numb state, a small smile flickered across my face as I imagined Cassian’s reaction to the news. He wasn’t one to hold petty grudges but he certainly clung on to that of being banned from the Summer Court. I just hoped he wouldn’t be angry with me for leaving without saying goodbye.

Additionally, Tarquin discussed my skill set with me and by the end of the meeting I had been offered a paid position in teaching self-defense courses within the palace to a variety of age groups, primarily focusing on women and children. I brought few assets with me upon leaving the Night Court and my pride was too stubborn to withdraw any of the money from Azriel and I’s shared account when I left. No, I could do well enough on my own - thank you very much.

After the battle of Adriata, Tarquin had ramped up efforts of ensuring his citizens were better protected on all fronts so his offer was mutually beneficial for his court and me, ergo not solely extended out of pity. My pride beamed at that.

I gratefully accepted his offer.

—————

I returned home. Home? No, not home - to my grandmother’s house to find that my sister and nephew were there waiting for me.

“Oh my gods!!!!!” My sister Camila yelped. Practically tackling me.

“Gran! You didn’t tell me that Y/N was coming for lunch. You secretive old thing.”

Before he could say anything I swooped my nephew, Alex, up into my arms and - ouch, I was not as strong as I used to be because it was an effort to lift him. He’d grown at least a foot since the last time I’d seen him. A pang of guilt struck me out of my blissful state and back to reality at the thought. It had been far too long since I’d come to visit my family.

“Where’s Uncle Azriel?” he asked.

The question struck me like a knife. My expression faltering as I scrambled to regain composure. “He’s on a mission.” I lied.

My sister’s brows furrowed. She was always too good at reading me but thankfully she didn’t press further. I would talk to her when I was ready.

We spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and catching up. Alex animatedly told me of school and all of his friends - I couldn’t help but smile as the warm summer breeze whisped over my exposed skin. The tea tasted a little bit sweeter, the air a little fresher, and the company a little warmer.

—————

“Y/N?”

Rhysand’s distant voice echoed into my mind as I lay down for bed that night. I always forgot how far his daemati abilities could carry.

“Hello, Rhys.”

“I received Tarquin’s letter. Azriel has been on edge all day and…. Well, I’m not going to ask you to share anything you don’t want to but - it must have been bad. Take all the time you need.”

“I’m not coming back, Rhys.”

The words rolled through me so quickly that I almost believed them but I knew I’d need closure at some point. For now, I wasn’t ready for that.

Seeming to sense that exact thought Rhys only replied, “Write me or Feyre if you need anything at all.”

—————

Who cries knowing you don’t care?

Night time always brought out stronger emotions in me. I’d keep my emotional barriers held high all day but as the sun set, so did those walls. As I lay in bed that night the first waves of grief blew through me. Not a wave of my own grief which had been omnipresent within me but… Azriel’s grief through our bond.

Of course it took me leaving for him to feel anything toward me through our own mating bond. I shut it down as effectively as I could and cried. Tears of anger flowed as I realized that my presence was never enough but my absence was what it took for him to give a damn about me.

Who worries what the future holds?

I grieved the future that could have been ours had he only chosen me. I let the sobs pour out once again as his pain rolled through me in waves. He couldn’t even extend the courtesy of shutting down his end of the bond as he came to grips with the ramifications of his own actions. His emotions only brought me bitterness and maybe that was a flaw on my end but it sure as hell felt justified. I spent so long giving him everything and even now, I still receive only heartache in return.

Who’s tired of empty promises?

He swore he’d love me forever but forever only meant until someone better came along. Certainly it wouldn’t be long before he returned to Elain for comfort. Would he be courteous enough to shut down the bond then or would I feel the pleasure she brought as she soothed his emotional wounds then too? As he healed and made the same empty promises to her that he had to me? Hell, had he already made those promises to her? Would he hold to them for her?

What would he do now that I’m gone?

What would I do now that I’m gone?

———————————————

A/N brace yourselves, we’re getting a different character’s POV in the next chapter 😏 🔥

Tags:

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26

#acotar #sarah j maas #azriel x reader #Azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel shadowsinger #inspired by hunter hayes #Tarquin #summer court #fuck around and find out #azriel angst #acotar angst #elriel #azriel x elain #elain archeron

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javierpena-inatacvest · 2 months

Text

Promises

Summary: When you wake up to find your house quiet, your first reaction is panic. But after you find Javi and learn what he has planned for you this morning, your mood becomes a whole lot better.

Pairing: Dad!Javi x Wife!reader (Reader's nickname is Osita, no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K (Y'all I wrote this in like a few hours I was feeling some typa way)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (don't do this pls but also they want another baby), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving) creampie, cum play (ig??), praise kink, the biggest, fattest, nastiest breeding kink (... Don't look at me), ass slapping (but affectionately), mentions of body insecurity post pregnancy, Javi being the biggest menace of all time (this man has a MOUTH on him, lawd have mercy), Javi being the best husband and literally being so in love, it's honestly sickening, Chucho patiently waiting for his next grandchild 9 months from now LMAO

A/N: ... Hey... I'm gonna need all of you to not look at me for the next 7-10 business days after this one.... I'm not sure what's in the water over here, but uh... Yeah. I'll leave it at that. Thanks to @endlessthxxghts for letting me share my horny thots about our favorite dad, sorry for waking up on the feral side of the bed this morning 🥴

Part of the Forever and Always Series!

It was quiet.

Way too quiet.

You couldn’t remember a time in the past 5 years where you had woken up to the house being so silent.

No TV, no commotion, no little squeals and giggles from your girls waiting impatiently for you to get up and out of bed, and if you weren’t already confused enough, you rolled over to be greeted by the empty space where your husband should have been, the usual warmth left radiating after he had gotten out of bed before you long gone.

But the real kicker was that when you turned back over again to peek at the flashing numbers of your alarm clock, your eyes went wide at a number that you hadn’t seen since well before kids.

10:39 A.M.

“Jesus Christ…” You whispered to yourself, frantically rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and tossing the comforter off of your body before scrambling out of bed in distress, as your brain pieced together the worst sort of panicked puzzle as to why it was so late, so quiet, and Javi was nowhere to be found.

You pushed open the bedroom door, peeking into the hallway, just as ghostly and empty as you had suspected, each of your daughter’s bedroom doors wide open with neither of them in sight. Rushing back down the hall towards your stairs before stopping in front of Javi’s office, you paused your search at the sound of familiar, muffled humming coming from behind the door.

Pushing it open, you were shocked to see the image of your husband sitting at his desk, leaning back in his seat with a book in his hand and feet propped up against the wooden surface, quietly humming to himself as he turned a page, seeming completely unbothered by his solitude. As the door creaked open further, it caught Javi’s attention, peeking up from over his book with a smile on his face as he dogeared his current page, pushing himself out of his chair to walk towards you.

“Wow, look who’s up! I was gonna give you ‘til 11:00 before I really started to get worried. How’d you sleep, Hermosa?” He cooed, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in for a hug, pressing a soft kiss into the sleepy tangles of your hair, gently cupping your face and forcing your worried gaze up towards him.

“Javi, what’s- what’s going on? Where are the girls? Is everything ok-” Before you could finish the rest of your thought, Javi’s lips were pressed against yours, the familiar bitterness of black coffee and minty gum still lingering in his mouth as he caught the rest of your sentence with his kiss, the hand cupping your cheek now letting his thumb swipe gently across your soft skin.

“Relájete, mi amor (relax, my love)” Javi laughed, pressing another kiss onto your forehead, smiling down at you, “I know how tired you’ve been the past couple of weeks, and rightfully so. You take such good care of our girls- you are the most incredible mom to them, but it’s only fair that you deserve a break every once and a while, too. So,” he smirked, tightening his grip around your waist, letting his hand creep slowly towards your ass, “I asked my dad last night if I could drop Lucy and Elliot off with him this morning so we could have a day just the two of us. He’s more than happy to keep ‘em for as long as we want, so I figured I'd take him up on the offer and I can get some time alone with my beautiful wife to help her relax and show her how much I appreciate her.”

You could the anxiety and worry instantly wash away from your body, the fear that had been consuming you since you had woken up now replaced by excited butterflies swirling in your stomach, heat creeping through your cheeks as you smiled back up at him, tears welling in your eyes in appreciation for how goddamn lucky you were to have someone who cared about you as much as Javi did.

“Thank you.” You whispered, biting at the inside of your lip to try and keep yourself from crying, Javi immediately tilting your chin up towards him in response, softly swiping away the wetness pooling in your eyes.

“Hermosa…” He cooed, looking you up and down with an empathetic smirk, brushing a stray piece of hair from your bed head out of your face, tucking it behind your ear, “It’s the least I could do. Now, why don’t you go get back into bed. I picked up a breakfast sandwich and coffee for you from Leo’s on the way back from Pop’s place, figured you might be hungry, considering you slept until almost lunch time. And after you finish eating,” He rasped, leaning his head down to nip at your neck, the hot words of his breath dancing against your skin, the shift in his tone instantly sparking a fire in your core, “I think I might be feeling hungry, too.”

“You are a menace, I hope you know that.” You sighed, trying with every ounce in you to keep your composure, the tickle from Javi’s mustache at least providing some relief from the tension as you burst out into giggles, Javi playing along by digging his fingers into your hips, running his hands along your sides until you had exploded into a fit of laughter, flailing and squirming in his broad grasp. “Stop it, you meanie! You can’t just promise me food and sex and then hold me hostage like this!”

Finally releasing you, Javi grabbed your face to pull you in for another kiss, this one slow and tender, an electric energy pulsing between the two of you as your lips brushed against one another, only pulling away after Javi’s hand planted a loving smack on your ass, making you squeal in surprise.

“Go get your ass back in bed, Osita. I’ll be back in a second with breakfast.”

“Okay.” You giggled, turning back on your heels out the door, but not before turning back around to peek your head through the doorway with a sneaky grin on your face. “And you’ll also be back with sex?”

“Baby, you have no fucking idea.”

As you jumped back into bed, tucking yourself back into your sheets, it wasn’t long before Javi was back in your room with the first part of his promised bargain- Your favorite breakfast sandwich and an extra large coffee, grinning in delight as he passed both over to you before settling next to you, wrapping your arm around your shoulder as you demolished the better part of your food.

“Oh my god, I haven’t had one of these in so long. God, I love you so much.” You sighed, taking another bite of your breakfast as Javi laughed at the ferocity at which your sandwich had disappeared. “I bet the image of this is really doing a lot turn you on for the second half of your promise. If I would have known, I would have at least put on cuter pajamas.” You snickered, gesturing down to your nearly finished food and Javi’s worn, oversized shirt and boxers you still had draped over your body.

“Shut up. You know I think you look sexy in anything. I love seeing you in my clothes. Drives me fucking crazy. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.” Javi smirked, rubbing his hand along your thigh, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin.

“You just like it when I don’t wear a bra.” You snorted, rolling your eyes at Javi as you crumpled up the wrapper of your finished sandwich, setting it on your nightstand before rolling over to rest your head on Javi’s chest, draping one of your arms across his stomach. “You’re sweet, Jav. Sexy in anything seems like a bit of a stretch, there’s about half my closest I refuse to make eye contact with after having Elliot.”

You let out a quiet sigh, trying to hide the frown pursed between your lips, thinking about how much your body had changed since the first time you had ever worn Javi’s clothes all those years ago. Two kids and lots of time later, you couldn’t help feel a little self conscious about how different you looked from when the two of you had first met. And even though Javi said it to you all the time, it was much easier said than done to always believe it yourself.

“Hey…” Javi replied softly, looking down at you with a frown on his own face, “Osita, you know I’m being serious, right?”

“Well, you’re my husband, you kind of have to be.” You huffed, half forcing your laughter as you immediately began to feel yourself become more and more conscious of your weight laying on top of him, almost trying to shift yourself away before Javi’s hand was wrapped around your back, pulling you over to lay completely on top of him and forcing you to look at his serious expression.

“Out of all the women in the world, you are the only one I ever want. You are just as beautiful, if not even more beautiful than the day I first met you, you know why? Because your beautiful body that I love every fucking inch of has grown and carried our daughters. You’ve made me a dad, you’ve given us a family, you are the most incredible wife and mom I could ever imagine. Baby, if that’s not the fucking sexiest thing, then I don’t know what to tell you.” You could feel the warmth blooming in your chest as Javi looked up at you with his sweet brown eyes, his hands roaming down the sides of your body until his fingers were digging into your hips and ass, kneading the soft flesh in his grasp. “Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” You whispered, an ache beginning to grow between your legs as you could feel Javi’s bulge hardening beneath you, his hands roaming relentlessly around your body, making it hard for you to even think straight.

“Promise me,” He paused, nipping at your neck, the bridge of his nose dragging along the side of your face until his mouth was ghosting over your ear, his words dancing against your skin, “Promise me that you believe me. That I think that you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. That I know you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. That I love your body so fucking much, that I wanna put another baby into it.”

His last sentence had your heart literally skipping a beat, a quiet moan escaping from your lips as Javi carefully rolled your body off of his, flipping you onto your back and caging you under his broadness, planting hot, wet kisses down your neck as his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, his hands creeping below the fabric to palm at your breasts, rolling your pebbled nipples between his fingers as he waited for your response. Unfortunately, the best you could muster was a soft gasp of his name.

“Fuck… Javi.”

“That what you want, Hermosa? For me to fuck another baby into you, huh?”

Javi knew it was exactly what you wanted, the two of you agreeing you were going to try for a third a few weeks ago, considering he was almost more ecstatic at the thought of growing your family than you were, and that the thought of knocking you up was something that made both of you absolutely insatiable.

With the wet patch in your underwear growing damper and damper by the second, you barely had enough power in your brain to respond, especially now that Javi had pulled your shirt over your head, letting his kisses travel down your collarbone, chest, and now to your breasts, taking the nipples that he had been toying with between his fingers into his mouth, his tongue flicking and sucking at the harden buds as your moans began to grow like the fire in your belly.

“Yes, oh fuck- yes. I want you to fuck another baby into me, Javi. Please.” You whimpered, your body squirming under his touch as he let his kisses drift down your stomach and hips, his fingers hooking over your shorts to pull them down off your legs, gently nudging them to fall open for him as he nestled himself between, admiring the wet, aching mess you had already become.

“Then you have to promise me,” He smirked, draping each of your legs over his shoulders as he brought his face to your soaking heat, gently kissing your clit and letting the strong bridge of his nose ghost over your folds, “You have to promise me that you believe me. That you believe that you’re the most fucking beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Then, I’ll fuck another baby into you, okay? Can you do that for me, Momma?”

“I- I- pr-promise.” Your voice trembled, ragged with want and desperation as Javi’s mouth hovered painstakingly still over your cunt, waiting for you to fulfill your promise so he could fill you with his.

“There’s my good girl.” He cooed, feeling his smug smile bury itself into your pussy, letting a long, broad stroke of his tongue drag through your folds, the satisfying sensation making you shutter, your hips instinctively bucking towards Javi’s face as his grip around your legs tightened to hold you in place. His tongue languidly dragged across your cunt, slowly circling around your clit, soaking up the juices of your arousal that had been pooling between your legs, drinking up every single last drop.

He let the presses of his tongue become firmer and more focused as he unhooked one of his arms, snaking his arm between your legs to gently press two fingers into your soaking entrance, easily sliding through your slick to curl against the soft spot inside you that had you relentlessly crying out his name.

You couldn’t help but feel your bottom half squirm against your sheets, reaching down to tug at the dark curls of Javi’s hair, trying to find any sort of relief to keep from being a loud, moaning and whimpering mess as his tongue worked along your cunt, lapping you up like a man starved. His mouth latched along your clit, sucking at your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers pumped inside you, making the tingle at the base of your spine already begin to build in a needy desperation.

“Javi, holy fuck- oh my god baby, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You whimpered, somehow managing to keep your voice just above a whisper as Javi pulled away to respond, still holding a steady pace with his hand as he felt your pussy start to flutter around his fingers.

“I’ve got you, Hermosa. Want you to soak my face before I feel you cum again around my cock. Give it to me, baby. Cum all over me before I fucking fill you up.”

With that, he was back between your legs, relentlessly working along your heat with his mouth as the coil in your belly wound so tightly, you were on the brink of snapping.

“Javi, Javi, Javi, oh shit- Fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaahhhhhhhhh.”

It was barely seconds before your orgasm flooded through your body, pleasure spreading through every inch of you as you clenched around Javi’s fingers, soaking his hand and face with your arousal as you came, screaming out his name as you reached your high.

That’s it, Hermosa.” Javi smirked, squeezing his hand into the meat of your thigh as you rode out your orgasm, still slowly fucking you with his fingers as you came undone around them, your cunt clamping down on the delicious curve of his digits. Javi peeked his head back up as your breathing began to even out, your chest rising and falling in satisfaction as his kisses began to travel back up your body, stopping at your neck to take extra time to nip along your jawline, his teeth tugging at your earlobe as his voice rasped against your skin.

“Such a good girl for me, Osita. So fucking wet. Fuck, I need to feel you, baby.”

Before you even had time to catch your breath, Javi had his arms wrapped around your waist, flipping you over on to your stomach, dragging his hands down your back, stopping at your ass to grab a handful of the plump flesh and smack it, nudging your legs to spread open for him wider, pushing them out with his own.

Javi worked behind you quickly and methodically, shedding himself of all of his clothes to free his painfully hard cock from his boxers, leaking with precum from the minute he had thought of the prospect of putting another baby in you.

He stroked himself a few times, using his other hand to swipe through your folds, coating his fingers in your slick before wrapping them around his cock, now shiny with your arousal as he lined up with your entrance, filling you up inch by inch, almost painfully slowly, until he had bottomed out inside you, his hips flushed against your ass, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch.

“Javi… Move, baby, please. I need to feel yo- Oh fuck!” You whimpered, your words drowned out by your moans as Javi had pulled himself out, only to thrust his whole length back into, gritting his teeth while a groan rumbled deep in his chest, draping his body over yours, burying one of his hands in your hair, gently tugging at the ends as he whispered into your ear, keeping his slow and meticulous pace.

“You wanna feel me too, sweet girl? Wanna feel me fill you up when I fuck every last drop into you? Fuck myself so deep inside you it’ll fucking take? That what you want, baby?”

“Yes, fuck, fuck, yes, please. Fuck, I want you fuck a baby into me, Javi. I wanna make you a Daddy again.”

Another deep moan feel from Javi’s lips, scooping his hand under you to sit in his lap, your back flushed against his chest, one hand palming at your breast, the other wrapped around your waist, holding you in place as his pace began to increase, just enough to hear the wetness between the two of you with each thrust of his hips.

You couldn’t help but let your bottom half grind deeper into each stroke, pushing yourself further and further down onto his cock, the sweet stretch of his fullness making your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head, the wanton moans and whimpers babbling from your mouth almost as lewd as the sounds your bodies made as they melded into one another as you let him take everything you had to give.

“Fuck me- That’s what you want, Momma? Fuck, I can’t wait to get you pregnant. See how beautiful you look carrying our baby again. Let everyone know you’re fucking mine with our baby growning inside you.” Letting his hand shift from your breast, he began sliding it up your chest, wrapping it around your jaw to tilt your head over your shoulder towards him, staring into his deep brown eyes before engulfing your lips in a long, wet kiss, your mouths becoming a tangled mess of tongue and teeth without ever relenting his pace.

His other hand dipped between your legs to circle your clit, still sensitive and swollen from your first orgasm, now throbbing even harder from his touch and feeling the heat beginning to bloom in your belly as you felt your second high begin to approach.

Javi knew just as well as you did that you were close to cumming again, feeling your pussy begin to flutter around his cock as his hips slapped against yours, breaking from your kiss to tug your earlobe between his teeth.

“Give me one more, Osita. Cum all over my cock and I’ll fill you up. Fill up this pretty little pussy ‘til she’s fucking stuffed and it’s got no choice but to fucking take and I knock you up.”

“You promise?” You whispered, your breath shaky and legs trembling as Javi rubbed tighter, faster circles around your clit, still cradling your jaw to force your gaze on him.

“I promise, baby. I fucking promise.”

Almost instantly, you could feel the coil that had been winding tighter and tighter in your core suddenly began to snap, screaming out Javi’s name as you felt your second orgasm crash through you, consuming every inch of your body in euphoria, feeling like you had turned to Jello, the only thing keeping you up being Javi’s firm grasp around you.

“That’s it, sweet girl. That’s it. Fuck, I’m close too, baby.” He mewled, his pace becoming frantic and sloppy as he held you up, fucking you through your high with reckless abandon, wanting to, no needing, to make sure he made good on his promise- that in 9 months from now, you’d have one more member in your family.

Even though you were barely hanging on by a thread, you could feel Javi’s grip tightening around your jaw, tilting it back towards him, the firm pressure cupping your face enough to force your eyes open to meet the wrecked and ragged expression plastered across his face.

“Eyes on me, Hermosa. Fuck, I need to- mierda- need to see that pretty face when I fuck you full of me. God, I love you so much, I love you so-ahhhhhhh, fuck.” It was then Javi’s turn to follow suit, only needing a few more pumps before he thrusted up once more, keeping himself buried deep inside your cunt as hot ropes of his spend covered your walls, making sure to milk himself of every last drop before even thinking of pulling out.

Holding you in place still sitting on his cock, you could feel the mixture of the two of you beginning to drip down your thighs, prompting Javi to gently ease you off of him, letting your back hit the bed as carefully lifted your hips to slip one of the pillows underneath your bottom half, briefly admiring the wet mess between your legs before taking two fingers and collecting the arousal that had leaked from your cunt, attentively dragging it up your thighs and pushing it back into your heat, making you gasp at the sensation.

“Gonna keep you full of me all day, sweet girl. Gotta make good on my promise.” He smirked, leaning down to pepper soft kisses to the inside of your thighs before slowly making his way back up your body, stopping at your lips for another tender kiss.

“Given what just happened, I think you’re trying to kill me before you can make good on that promise, Jav. Jesus Christ.” You sighed, your voice riddled with breathy giggles as you playfully nudged your husband, now lying next to you, pulling you in to rest against the warmth of his bare chest. “You think Peña number 3 is gonna make an appearance soon?”

“Like I said, mi amor, promise is a promise.” He smirked, boyish grin plastered across his face as he laid your hand across your stomach, gently rubbing it back and forth across your skin. “Plus, I think the girls will be thrilled to have another sister.”

“Sister, huh? We don’t even know if there’s a baby in there yet you dork, let alone what it’s gonna be.” You snickered, rolling your eyes at Javi.

“Been right about the other two. I’ll bet you all the breakfast sandwiches you want that it is.”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous, I hope you know that. Thank you for this morning, Jav. The girls and I are so lucky to have you. I love you so much.” You sighed contently, smiling into Javi’s soft skin.

“I love you too, Hermosa. All of you are the best things that have ever happened to me. All of my girls.” He winked, gently squeezing the curves of your belly, gesturing towards the daughter he proudly assumed he would be meeting in 9 months.

“Well, all of us, or your new son and my unlimited amount of breakfast sandwiches.” you snickered, “When did your dad need us to go pick up the girls? We probably owe him a few breakfast sandwiches for watching the gremlins on such short notice.”

“He said any time later today. Which means…” He smiled, caging his body over yours once again, as much time as we need to make sure that I win our bet.”

“Game on, Peña.”

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @pedr0swh0r3

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

Text

Doggitude

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x teacher!fem!reader (+ Kojo!)

Summary: After Tim takes his bad day out on you, you leave. Kojo misses you and does everything he can to see you again.

Warnings: angst, argument, Tim insults/belittles reader and her job, fluffy ending! KOJO!!

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim loves you, and loves his job, but sometimes those sides of him are at odds. You are happy, bubbly, a ray of sunshine in a dark world, whereas his job shows him only the dark. Each side of Tim impacts the others; a good day with you leads into a good day at work, and a bad day at work is occasionally taken out on you.

Tim knows he isn’t a great boyfriend, and he can be abrasive and use you as an emotional outlet when things aren’t going well. He tries, he really does, but some bad days make being a good person seem impossible.

This week, Tim has worked several shifts back-to-back and is in a terrible mood when his shift finally ends. He’s ready to get home, but he just wants to enjoy some quiet and go to sleep, so he decides not to call you. Even as he sees your picture on his phone screen, he finds your smile a bit too bright. You’re different than him, and Tim usually loves that, but at the end of three consecutive bad days, Tim wants to stew in his anger rather than see something bright, like looking into the sun after extended time in a cave.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve been spending time at Tim’s house while he’s been at work. Every minute with Kojo in the otherwise empty house has made you miss Tim even more. Your kindergarten class has been rowdy all week, but you refuse to let them dampen your mood. Excited at the idea of Tim finally coming home tonight, you sit with Kojo and wait, reviewing lesson plans and report cards in your spare time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo looks up from your lap when the front door opens, and you smile brightly when Tim enters. He doesn’t notice you as he drops his bag and sighs.

“Hey,” you greet. “We missed you this week.”

Tim clenches his jaw as he turns to face you. “Have you been here every night this week?”

Nodding, you explain, “I wanted to see you, but I also needed to take care of Kojo.”

He remains silent, his eyes focused on something behind you.

“Are you okay? I know it’s been a long week, but-“

“You don’t know,” Tim says, cutting you off. “You will never understand what a long week really is.”

“Tim, I-“

“No,” Tim snaps, stepping back as he shrugs sarcastically. “You do not understand what it is like for me. Your job is nothing; your long week is because a kid wets his pants, mine is because one of my own gets shot or I lose a suspect, and someone gets hurt because of it. In the grand scheme of things, your job doesn’t matter because people still become criminals and ruin lives like mine!”

Tim’s chest is heaving with anger, every little thing he had to deal with this week weighing on him while he takes it out on you. You bite down on your bottom lip as he continues hurting you, attacking you and the thing you love to make himself feel better.

“You’re angry and tired,” you begin, your smile long gone. “So, I’m going to go-“

“Don’t talk to me like I am one of students. You can barely control them, so don’t try to placate me. I have dealt with criminals who do more work than you.”

A tear rolls over your cheek, and you wipe it away harshly.

“Then go yell at them, since that seems to be what you do to the people you claim to care about,” you reply, grabbing your things.

“Don’t leave.” Tim rolls his eyes as he says it, like you’re overreacting.

“I didn’t want to, but you clearly do. I hope you feel better in the morning, Tim.”

The door slams behind you, and Tim runs his hand over his hair, pinching the tight muscle at the back of his neck. Kojo jumps from the chair where he was sitting beside you, rushing to the closed door and whimpering. He looks back at Tim, whining as he raises his paw toward the door.

“I messed up, didn’t I, Kojo?” Tim asks.

Kojo whines again, a clear ‘yes.’ Kojo has loved you since the moment he met you, and Tim even refers to you as 'Kojo’s mom.' Tim pulls his phone from his pocket, dialing your number. He gets no answer, and Tim can’t blame you, but he also knows better than to chase you. He texts you and puts his phone away, calling Kojo to follow him to bed. Kojo stays at the door, lying down and watching the doorknob.

“Sorry, buddy,” Tim says, leaving his bedroom door open in case Kojo forgives him in the night.

✯✯✯✯✯

Once you are safely in your apartment, you let yourself cry, Tim’s words on a loop in your mind. Your phone rings again, and you see Tim’s name with yet another message. Turning the ringer off, you push your phone away from you and curl up in the middle of your bed, crying rather than sleeping.

Tim has been emotional coming home from work before, saying something you didn’t deserve. He’s never taken it this far or made it about you personally before tonight. His comments about your job had to have come from somewhere, maybe something he’s been hiding. You don’t believe him; you know what you do is important, but Tim hurt you, and you’re not sure it will ever stop hurting.

When the sun appears on the horizon, you call in sick from work, prepared for a long weekend alone. Part of you wants to know if Tim is feeling better today, but then you remember what he did, giving you a bad day in his attempt to minimize his own.

“I miss Kojo,” you whisper, crying again as you remember that it’s not only Tim you’re losing.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Kojo?” Tim calls, growing more worried with each empty room.

Behind the kitchen island, Kojo is sitting and shaking with his head down. Tim kneels before him and lays a gentle hand on his back. Kojo begins whining, a different sound than his reaction to you leaving last night.

“What’s the matter, Kojo?” Tim whispers.

Kojo shakes harder, sliding his front paws out so he’s lying flat on the floor. Tim searches for a nearby vet hospital before picking Kojo up and carrying him outside. Once Kojo is in his truck, Tim drives to the vet hospital. Kojo’s whining turns to short barks as he carries him inside. The vet takes one look at Kojo shaking and leads Tim into an examination room. After checking Kojo's vitals quickly, the vet sets her equipment down and chuckles.

“Mr.?” she begins.

“Bradford. And that’s Kojo.”

“Mr. Bradford, Kojo is faking. There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“He’s- he’s fine?”

“Yes, he is. Dogs sometimes do this when they want attention or after something changes, in an attempt to get it back. Has something like that happened recently?”

Tim looks at Kojo and nods.

“Someone will be in shortly with the paperwork. I’m glad Kojo is healthy. Have a nice day, Bradfords.”

As the door closes, Tim asks, “Wasn’t that a bit dramatic? Did you think I’d call her, and she’d answer for you?”

Kojo looks up and grunts at Tim. Someone knocks before handing Tim the bill and telling him he’s free to go. Tim looks down at the bill and releases a deep exhale. He should be upset with Kojo, but he probably deserves a lot worse for what he did to you.

“She really won’t come back now, Kojo. You spent all my money,” Tim mutters.

Kojo grunts again as Tim clips a leash to his collar. He refuses to look at Tim, upset that he was taken to the vet rather than your side.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim hasn’t texted in a few hours. He either realized you weren’t going to answer or decided he didn’t want to talk. You haven’t read the messages or played the voicemails, too hurt to communicate with Tim in any way. Reading his words or hearing his voice will make you cry harder, and you’re already nearly cried out.

Looking at a framed picture of Kojo, you wish things had been different, wondering if one little choice would have made things end differently. You didn’t sleep last night, and you’re sure you won’t sleep again tonight, too busy crying and mourning the loss of the most important boys in your life. As the sun sets, you begin sobbing, holding the picture of Kojo to your chest as you hear Tim’s angry words in your mind again.

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo won’t come near Tim, content to sit by the door. When Tim moves, Kojo grunts, turning away. The doorbell rings, and Kojo steps back, watching Tim as he answers it. Signing for a package, Tim ignores Kojo’s growling.

“I can’t make her forgive me, pal,” Tim tells Kojo after he closes the door.

Kojo trots away, turning into the guest room to sleep. Tim sits on the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose as he realizes he has two problems that must be solved. He hurt you, and worse, he hurt you intentionally, and now he has a dog that misses you and blames him. Tim understands why you are ignoring him and why Kojo is upset, too. Reaching for his phone, he texts you again, but the dozens of unanswered texts above the newest make him refrain from calling you.

✯✯✯✯✯

After managing to get an hour and a half of sleep, you hope the third night without Tim will be easier. When you hear a dog barking outside your window and a man talking kindly to the dog as if it will respond, you realize that tonight will likely be the worst. Tim and Kojo do that, have their own language, and you were part of their world for a brief, brilliant moment. And then it was snatched away from you, breaking your heart and hurting your mind in the process.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You have to go outside eventually, Kojo,” Tim says with his arms crossed over his chest and Kojo’s leash hanging from his hand.

Kojo grunts, looks toward the door, and slowly approaches Tim. On the walk, Kojo pulls harder than usual, not listening to Tim when he gives him commands.

“When is this dog-gitude going to pass, Kojo?” Tim asks. “Because there’s nothing we can do.”

Tim doesn’t realize how close he is to your apartment when he enters the dog park. Kojo runs back and forth across the park a few times, glad to stretch his legs after avoiding Tim in the house for a few days. When he stops suddenly, looking at Tim as his back legs drop, preparing to run, Tim knows he can’t stop him.

“Kojo, no!” Tim yells.

Kojo, of course, doesn’t listen. He runs past Tim, out of the dog park, and down the sidewalk as fast as possible. Tim follows behind, pushing himself past his limit to catch Kojo. When he sees the lights of a familiar apartment complex, he realizes that Kojo is finding you.

“Kojo!” Tim calls again, slowing as he begins up the stairs.

✯✯✯✯✯

A dog barks at your door, and for a moment, you think you are imagining Kojo’s presence. When claws scratch against the wood, you open the door slowly. Kojo pushes past you, circling your legs happily. You sink to the floor, wrapping your arms around Kojo. Unaware that you are still crying, you’re surprised when Kojo begins licking your chin, attempting to dry your tears.

Footsteps echo in the stairwell, and when Tim appears in your doorway, panting and pressing one hand to the doorjamb to stay upright, you turn toward him instinctually. Kojo grunts, moving in front of you, blocking Tim.

Tim sees your tears and bloodshot eyes and can’t stop himself from stepping inside. He closes the door and squats, keeping his eyes on you as he lowers to look in your eyes over Kojo’s head.

“Did you read my messages?” he asks softly.

You shake your head, and he nods before leaning back as he sits against the door.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Shaking your head again, you pull Kojo back into your arms and cling to him.

“I’m going to tell you want my messages said, but if you want me to stop I will,” Tim begins. “I never should have said those things about your job, because they were wrong. Teaching is important, and the kind of teaching you do is far more important than what I do. You give kids a chance to be the best they can be, and I have to find the bad people and make them pay for it. You already know that I had a long week, a bad one, too, and I took that out on you. I can’t say much more than I am sorry; I’m so sorry that I talked to you like that. You are the only good part of a life surrounded by grief. I- I wouldn’t forgive me.”

“Why?” you ask against Kojo. “Why did you say those things?”

“You- you’re bright, sunny, happy… all the time.”

“I thought you liked that about me.”

“I love that about you. But, after the week I had, it was just hard to turn away from the hard parts of the job and see pure light.”

“So, you don’t want to come back to-“

“Don’t finish that. This has nothing to do with you. This was all me, trying to deal with a bad week and making it far worse. Hurting you in the process was not my intention, and I can never make up for that.”

You hug Kojo tightly, thinking about what Tim said. Having two completely different life elements like that can’t be easy. If it’s not about him not wanting to come home to you, you’re not sure how to avoid the same thing in the future.

“I’m sorry,” Tim repeats. “And, if you give me a second chance, I will show you that I can separate the two. Bringing a bad day home to you, hurting you, is not an option and I never should have lost sight of that… I’ve missed you.”

“I missed Kojo.”

“Yeah, Kojo missed you too,” Tim replies with a dramatic raise of his brows. “Cost me nearly $1,000 trying to see you again.”

“How?” you ask, looking up at Tim again.

He softens when your eyes meet his. “He pretended to be sick trying to get you to come back, but I just took him to the vet. Emergency visits are expensive, even if there is no reason for it.”

“Did- did you follow him here?”

“Yeah. He ran from the dog park and came straight here.”

“Would you have come here if he hadn’t led you, or would you have just moved on after I stopped answering the phone?”

Tim slides closer until Kojo is the only thing separating him from you. “I would have come. I would have gotten on my knees and begged to apologize.”

“Just to apologize?”

“I can’t force you to forgive me or give me another chance, just tell you that I’m sorry and I miss you like crazy.”

“Well, I missed you like Kojo missed me,” you say quietly.

“That much?”

“I haven’t slept in three nights, so, yeah,” you answer with a chuckle.

Tim raises his hand to your face, placing his fingers under your jaw as his thumb moves gently across your cheek.

“I forgive you,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Just promise to talk to me, rather than take it out at me next time you have a bad day?”

“I promise,” Tim replies. “Kojo, move.”

Kojo grunts, moving closer to you.

“Kojo,” you say, smiling when he moves to your side, watching you closely for any sign of hurt.

“He likes you more than me. His mom left and nothing could make it better.”

“Has he been eating? Because I have some of his food here-“

Tim cuts you off, kissing you softly as his hand moves to the back of your neck. He moves slowly, communicating his love and his apology in his movements.

“Can we get off the floor?” you ask.

“Only if Kojo and I can stay for a while.”

“You can stay forever.”

Tim pulls you into his lap, smiling when you grab his shoulders in surprise. He kisses your jaw as he stands, pulling you up and moving to your couch.

“I’m sorry you had a bad week,” you say, patting for Kojo to join you.

“Why are you like this?” Tim replies.

“Because I’m sunny, and bright, and all things happy.”

“Lucky me,” Tim hums.

#tim bradford x reader #kojo bradford #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader #kojo bradford. cutie pie extraordinaire.

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sycamorelibrary754 · 5 months

Text

Happy Thanksgiving

Summary: You invite Natasha’s family to join you for Thanksgiving. Holiday cheer and a surprise awaits!

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader, Yelena Belova x reader (platonic), Alexei Alanovich Shostakov x reader (platonic) Melina Vostokoff x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: None

A/N: This was a fun one. Happy Thanksgiving!

When you first broached the subject with Natasha of inviting Yelena, Melina, and Alexi to your home for Thanksgiving, you weren’t sure how your wife would respond. True, things were better. Their relationship had gone through something of a healing process since they took down Dreykov and the Red Room together, but her family was still a lot for anyone to handle. Most of the team was going to Iowa to spend Thanksgiving with the Barton’s. Clint had gotten it into his head to deep fry the turkey this year. It was going to be can’t-miss-entertainment according to Sam. However, you and Natasha were looking forward to a more intimate holiday.

“You really want my family to join us for Thanksgiving?” Her eyes met yours as you snuggled up on the couch together.

“I think it could be really fun. Plus, you deserve to get to spend some quality time with them that doesn’t involve death, destruction, or pigs,” you joked.

“You don’t like mom’s pigs?” She smirked.

No, love. I do. They’re adorable. Especially once Yelena made them those personalized piggy vests,” you giggled.

“Oh, yeah… Pests!” Natasha laughed recalling the image.

“So what do you think? A Romanoff family Thanksgiving?”

She thought for a moment before a smile reached her lips. “Okay, let’s do it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think it could be fun,” caressing your cheek softly.

Upon receiving Nat’s approval and confirmation that all three were available and would be there with bells on, you went into planning mode. Determined to make it a special holiday for everyone.

*^~^*

You left bright and early to hit up the grocery store the Monday before Thanksgiving. It was crucial to avoiding the out-of-stock items and the rush of, “fucking annoying slowpokes who don’t know a shallot from an onion,” you eloquently informed your wife after wiggling out of her warm hold.

Nat mumbled something akin to, “See you later, detka,” her head buried in her pillow, as you hurriedly put on your coat, scarf, and beanie and rushed out of the house. Your car keys and shopping list clenched purposefully in your fist.

*^~^*

The front door slammed shut a couple of hours later, alerting Natasha to your arrival.

“I’m home, love!”

“The conquering shopper has returned! How was the store?” Looking around at the mountain of groceries cluttered around you like presents under the Christmas tree.

“It was good! I managed to get everything on the list,” removing your warm attire and running your hand smoothly through your hair.

“I can see that, y/n. Did you leave anything for the other shoppers?” Nat smirked.

“This is all necessary for the traditional Thanksgiving feast I have planned for us,” you explained. “Your family has never had an American Thanksgiving, so I thought why not go all out?”

Your wife stepped carefully around your grocery maze and wrapped her arms lovingly around your neck. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Not in the last twenty minutes,” jokingly glancing at the imaginary watch on your wrist before planting a tender kiss on her lips.

Natasha offered to unpack the groceries for you. Meanwhile, you set about creating a cooking timeline for the meal preparation. You were so in your element, your wife couldn’t help but smile. Your adorable expression as you typed away on your laptop reminded her of your demeanor out in the field. Focused, engaged, confident.

*^~^*

A creature of habit, Natasha awoke the following morning for her daily run. She groggily reached over to turn off her alarm, until she realized the alarm hadn’t gone off. No, it was the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen that tore her from her blissful sleep. Nat rolled over to your side of the bed, only to find it empty. She groaned softly and sat up; cracking her neck and stretching her arms over her head as a yawn escaped her lips.

Natasha padded down the hall toward the kitchen; still clad in her pajamas and the fuzzy socks you bought her. She turned the corner to find you floating around the kitchen in a whirlwind. Dishes in the oven and on the stove.

“Moya lyubov? You’re already in the kitchen?” Rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“No rest for the wary, sweetheart. I’ve got to get the pumpkin pie out of the way so I can get started on the sides by this afternoon,” you explained, fervently whisking your pumpkin puree into your custard mixture. You glanced around the counter like you were looking for something. “Oh, can you hand me those spice jars behind you?”

She picked up the cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger stacking them precariously on top of one another like blocks before appearing at your side.

“Nicely, done. You clearly missed your calling as a professional Jenga player.”

“Take your damned spices,” she snarked.

You sprinkled the spice mixture into the filling and let it sit. “Okay,” you said wiping your brow. “I just need to grab the pie crust out of the oven, it should be par-baked by now.”

“I got it, detka,” pulling on the oven mitts and removing the pan from the oven.

Perfect, now we’re just going to fill the crust,” carefully pouring the custard filling. “Then this is going back in the oven at 325 for 45-60 minutes.”

Nat carefully placed the pie back in the oven. “Shall I close, doctor?”

“Please,” in your most professional voice before lapsing into giggles.

“Now, that’s in. We can get started on the sides. Mashed, potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing, cranberry feta salad,” you listed.

Two types of potatoes?”

“Oh, it’s a must, love! You get both the salty and the sweet. It’s potato perfection.”

“Hmm, just like you,” she said suggestively.

“Smooth,” you replied.

“I try.”

*^~^*

You were still in the kitchen when Natasha returned from her run.

“Have you taken a break at all since I left?” Removing her running shoes and placing them by the front door.

“No time for breaks. Your sister just texted me and asked if Mac and Cheese was part of the American Thanksgiving tradition, so I’m whipping up one for her.”

Your wife rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, that’s not necessary, malyshka. Yelena will survive one meal without her precious Mac and Cheese.”

“It’s no problem. I want your family to feel comfortable! That’s why I also have a sparkling Vodka cocktail planned,” you winked.

“That is so sweet, but there is no need to stress over it, y/n. They are going to love it no matter what you make. Plus, you know if you feed them this well they’ll never leave, right?”

“And wouldn’t that be wonderful?” You joked.

“No, it wouldn’t,” she deadpanned.

The rest of the afternoon was spent preparing the stuffing, cranberry sauce, garlic green beanies, and gravy. By the time you finally laid down on the couch Tuesday evening still in your apron, you were pleased with the progress you had made. Your legs lay across Natasha’s lap while she massaged your aching feet. She wasn’t surprised to look over and find you sound asleep five minutes later as the television glow illuminated your features. Your wife could only smile at your sleepy form before gently picking you up and carrying you off to bed.

*^~^*

Wednesday morning Natasha decided to let you sleep in, so she made the executive decision to turn your alarm off. Truthfully, she felt guilty for how hard you had been pushing yourself this week for the sake of her family. Nat was nursing a cup of tea and reading a book in the family room when she heard you down the hall.

“Oh, crap!”

“3,2,1…..”

“Nat, why didn’t you wake me up!” Throwing on your favorite cardigan as you entered the room. “I’ve still got to make the pretzel bread and raspberry jello today.”

“You needed the sleep. I can’t tell you’re exhausted, and you were sleeping so soundly when I got up.”

You had a look of panic in your eyes.

“It’s okay, y/n. I found the recipes for the jello and bread on the table and got the jump on it for you. The jello is done and in the fridge, and the bread dough is under the towel rising.”

You blinked a couple of times as if she was speaking Latin. “You cooked?”

“Are you questioning my abilities?” Raising an eyebrow.

“Well.… yeah? I love you sweetheart, but the only thing I’ve ever seen you make is a peanut butter sandwich.”

“See for yourself,” smiling proudly and removing her reading glasses.

Opening the fridge, you were pleasantly surprised to find a gelatinous raspberry jello staring back at you. You then peeked under the towel on the counter to find the bread dough had just about doubled in size.

“Well, turn me upside down and paint me blue!”

“Hmmm tempting, but let’s save that for after my family leaves,” Natasha smirked as she placed a kiss on the side of your temple from behind.

“This is awesome, my love. Thank you so much,” turning around in her hold. “I have to say, the thought of the Black Widow cooking is incredibly sexy.”

“Is it now?”

“Very, I may have to get you your own apron,” you teased, as Natasha gently grasped your ear lobe between her teeth before placing soft kisses down the side of your neck. A few moments later, her phone dinged with a text notification on the counter beside you. You glanced down at the screen out of the corner of your eye.

“It’s Yelena, sweetheart...”

“Is she on fire? Otherwise, I’m not stopping.” Moving the tender kisses to your lips.

“No, she wants to know if she should bring anything,” you replied between kisses.

She feels bad we’re doing all the work,”

“She’s bringing our parents, that’s a shit ton of work.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

*^~^*

The next day you and Natasha got started on the crown jewel of your Thanksgiving dinner, the turkey. After letting it thaw in the fridge all week, your twenty-pound bird had been marinating in a salt brine for the past twelve hours. You placed the turkey in the oven at 425 degrees for 35 minutes, which gave you two just enough time to get ready before it needed to be basted.

After showering and putting on your best fall colors, you heard the doorbell.

“Baby, they’re here!” you called, opening the door to welcome your guests.

Alexi was sporting a plush turkey hat, while Melina held a freshly made appetizer. Yelena, standing in front of both of them, had Fanny at her feet. She quickly stepped inside first with a warm hug and a peck on your cheek.

“Happy Thanksgiving, y/n! Thank you so much for inviting us. “Now,” placing both hands on your shoulders. “Where is the booze? I just had to spend the last 20 minutes in the car alone with them listening to Alexi ramble on about his stupid hat.”

You point toward the coffee table holding the sparkling Vodka cocktails as your sister-in-law gives you a cheeky smile. “I love you.”

“Haha!” Alexi exclaimed. Greetings, my wonderful daughter-in-law. I am ready for turkey!” Wrapping you in a giant bear hug.

“Could’ve fooled me, Alexi,” you joked. “Ooh Melina, what do we have here? It looks delicious.”

“A traditional Russian appetizer, Mushroom Julienne. Mushrooms and onions cooked in cream sauce, cheese, and sour cream.”

“Ugh! My mouth is already watering. Here, let me take your coats, you can place that on the coffee table,” you offered.

After tending to the coats, you rejoined the group as everyone settled in the family room for appetizers and cocktails. Holiday music played softly in the background, setting the scene perfectly. You sat on the sofa beside your wife while your in-laws treated you to numerous stories of Natasha and Yelena’s all-to-brief childhood in Ohio. Some of which you had yet to hear.

“Y/N, has Natalia told you how she and Yelena used to stay up late on Christmas Eve to try and catch Santa Claus?” Melina asked.

“Now that was fun. You know, he comes down the chimney, girls. Look out! Where is he? You wait for him, and then when the cookies are gone, you see he’s there.” Alexi recalled.

Yelena smiled fondly at the memory while Natasha turned as red as Santa’s suit and hid her face in her hands.

“Aww, honey,” rubbing circles on her back. It’s precious! I’m sure you were adorable.”

“As adorable as you can be with bright blue hair. You looked like cotton candy,” Yelena laughed.

Nat threw a pillow across the room that barely missed her sister’s head.

“Ha!! Missed!”

“Girls, behave,” Melina ordered.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sisterly teasing and family banter. This was exactly what you were hoping for, and the evening was just getting started.

“Oh, detka, you don’t have a drink yet. Let me get you one,” Natasha offered starting to stand up, but your hand on her arm stopped her.

“Oh, no thanks, love. I actually need to go check on the turkey.”

“I’ll join you,” Yelena announced. “I want to see this bird you Americans are so crazy about.”

You opened the oven to reveal your delectable 20-pound turkey. “Do you want to brush it with the honey glaze for me, Lena? I’m going to check on the side dishes.”

“Just call me DaVinci!”

You turned back around to find your sister-in-law had finished off the glazing by painting a smiley face on the turkey.

“Wow, I didn’t know our turkey had such a charming smile,” you joked. Reducing the heat to 325 and setting the timer for another 75 minutes.

“Thank you again for including us today, y/n. While it would’ve been fun to watch Barton sear his eyebrows off trying to deep-fry a turkey, it's been nice to see Natasha so happy. We didn’t have any family holidays growing up. Not real ones, anyway.”

“Well, you always will now,” placing an arm around her shoulder. “I will spend the rest of my life trying to make your sister happy. That’s a promise.”

While the turkey finished cooking, you decided to share as many of your own Thanksgiving traditions as you could. You watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, took in some Turkey Day football, and even played a rousing game of Pictionary.

“What the hell is that?” Yelena shouted as Nat was heavily engaged in her drawing.

“Oooh! Ooh! A ladybug doing the Macarena!”You screamed, just before the timer ran out.

“Yes!”

“Unbelievable, what is that five in a row,” Melina remarked. No wonder you two are such a good team.”

“Well, it's no surprise you're a pro at Pictionary. I mean, who needs talent when you can just doodle like a 5-year-old?” Yelena retorted.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game, Lena,” dropping the marker like a microphone.

“Trust me, I do. It will be perfect for when I want to torture Kate Bishop.”

“With that, I think it’s time for dinner,” you announced happily.

*^~^*

It only took a few minutes before your Thanksgiving feast was lovingly displayed on the dining room table. The sight and aroma of the food was a gentle massage to the soul.

“Before we dig in,” holding up your glass for a toast, “I just wanted to say how happy Nat and I are that you could join us today. We love you, and I’m so thankful to be a part of your family.”

Natasha grasped your hand and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“We feel the same way,” Melina concurred.

“Yes, we’re so happy that you and our little Natalia found each other,” Alexi added.

“Yes, y/n is a saint. It’s all very touching, can I carve the turkey now,” Yelena groaned, holding up a sharpened carving knife.

“You may proceed,” you declared with a Queen’s wave of your hand.

Dishes were passed around the table like musical chairs. Wine filled everyone’s glasses, while you opted for your favorite - Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider. You pretended not to notice Yelena sneaking a few scraps to Fanny under the table. The chatter rose and fell, every few moments dispersed with laughter. It was the kind of occasion most aren't aware that they're truly enjoying, yet look back at in warm nostalgia.

After hibernating for a bit in your Thanksgiving food comas, you moved back into the family room for dessert. You were excited to finally bring out the homemade Pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream.

“Ah, now this is a beautiful pie.” Look at this, girls. I love America, you cannot get this back in St. Petersburg.” Alexi gushed.

“Y/N made it from scratch,” your wife bragged, causing you to blush at the compliment.

“Did y/n also split the atom?” Yelena teased. She earned an eye roll from her older sister. “Could you BE more whipped?”

“No, I honestly don’t think I could,” Natasha looked at you like you had hung the moon and the stars.

*^~^*

As the evening wound down, the hustle and bustle of the past week was starting to catch up to you. Your wife didn’t miss your heavy eyelids or the tiny yawn that escaped your lips as Fanny hopped up on the couch to lay down beside you.

“Well, we should probably get going, traffic will be annoying crossing back over the bridge,” your sister-in-law said.

“Before you go, I have gifts for all of you!” Jumping up off the couch.

“You do?”A bewildered expression on Nat’s face.

“I do!” You’re voice trailed away as you padded down the hall toward your bedroom.

Natasha turned around to her family with a shrug of her shoulders, no clue what you were talking about. You returned a moment later with small autumn-gold gift bags.

“This is just a little something for each of you,” clasping your hands together in front of your smiling face. Natasha was even more confused when you handed her one as well. “Go on, sweetheart,” you encouraged.

Natasha removed the delicate tissue paper. Her strong and calloused hands met the soft cotton hiding inside. She pulled the gift out and held it up in front of her. A tiny onesie was staring back at her that read, “Mommy’s Little Turkey.”

Natasha stared at it speechlessly wide-eyed. A first for your relationship. Finally, her brain caught up with the moment. “Moya lyubov—what? we—you…you’re pregnant?”

You nodded vigorously, starting to cry. Natasha’s hands cupped your cheeks. Her lips met yours in a heartfelt kiss, not caring in the slightest that her family was watching. You gently combed your fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, returning the kiss.

Melina, Alexi, and Yelena held up their onesies to find variations of Natasha’s: Grandma’s Little Turkey, Grandpa’s Little Turkey, and Auntie’s Little Turkey.”

“I knew it!”Yelena shouted.

She turned to Natasha and whispered, “You see what can happen when you keep your heart,” holding her lovingly in her arms.

Vashe zdorov'ye! (Cheers) Alexi exclaimed. If it is a boy you will name him Alexi. It is a strong and honorable name!” Kissing you on both cheeks.

“Oh God,” Yelena muttered under her breath. “For the love of Fanny, please don’t do that,” wrapping her arms around you. “I would love to babysit. There is much I’m looking forward to passing on to my niece or nephew.”

“Yeah, that’s not terrifying at all,” your wife mumbled in your ear.

The shock wearing off, Natasha reached down and gently placed her palm on your stomach. You weren’t showing yet, but just knowing that your child was growing inside you awakened a dream that she had put away in the Red Room long ago.

*^~^*

Once her family left, Natasha insisted that she would handle the post-holiday clean-up, confining you to the couch with a plethora of pillows and a fluffy blanket. Foreshadowing what was to come for the duration of your pregnancy.

“Sweetheart, those dishes go in the top right cupboard,” directing her from the couch.

“No worries, malyshka. I got it! You just take it easy. The baby needs rest after all of this Thanksgiving cheer,” her protective instincts make an appearance.

“The baby is the size of a plum, my love,”

“A very tired plum!”

*^~^*

Thirty minutes later the kitchen was clean and you both were ready for a good night’s sleep. You would never admit it to your wife, but boy, were you tired. You donned your coziest pajamas and joined Natasha in bed. Snuggled into the covers, you found comfort and peace in your safe space. Nat rolled over to face you, your foreheads touching in a beautifully intimate gesture of love and affection.

“This has been the best day of my life. Not only did you give my family an amazing Thanksgiving, you gave me a gift I’ll never forget. Though I have to admit now that I know you’re pregnant, I’m replaying the last week in my head in a loop of horrifying anxiety.”

You giggled at her confession, “It’s alright, Nat. I’m ready for a nice long rest, and I just had a check-up with Helen last week.”

“Wait, does the team know?”

“Dear God, no. You think that group can keep a secret?”

“We can tell them at Stark’s Christmas party in a couple of weeks if you’re comfortable with the idea.”

“Perfect. I need a couple of weeks to prepare for the onslaught of attention from our little one’s aunts and uncles.”

Natasha reached over and grabbed your hand. “I love you, y/n. I can’t wait to welcome our little plum into the world,” she smiled.

“I love you too. You are going to be an amazing mother, sweetheart.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, y/n”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Natasha.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff and you #black widow #fluff #comfort #yelena boleva #red guardian #melina #the avengers #mcu #white widow #natalia romanova

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gucciwins · 3 months

Text

flirty 30

a/n: happy birthday harry! celebrating his birthday every year is always fun. I saw someone say that harry’s probably receiving a lot of sweet and kind messages because he’s so loved and I had this idea I needed to share. I hope you enjoy!!!!!!

warning: angst, mentions about restraining order, abusive relationship

Y/N☀️

Happy Birthdayyyyyy!!!! You deserve for all your wishes to come true! Hope your 30’s start off flirty!

Ten seconds later, a second text came in.

Y/N☀️

Maybe you think it’s out of the blue, but you’ve been on my mind (always are), and I hope you know, even if we don’t talk. I always hold you close in my heart.

You deserve the world. I hope you never forget that because you gave me kindness when I thought there was none left. You gave me so much love and support. I couldn’t see my life without you—I still can’t.

Whether you’re in my life physically or not, you will always be important to me.

I love you, Harry. Happy Birthday!

Harry stared at his phone, his eyes filling with tears as he read the message a second and third time. By the time he was starting the message, a fourth time, tears were running down his face.

Y/N had been his rock. Someone he confided in, someone he could never go a day without talking to, and then suddenly she was gone.

He had closed himself off from her because he didn’t want to see someone else making her happy. His current girlfriend at the time hated how much attention he gave to Y/N but Y/N was like sunshine to him. She shone brightly, and he needed to be in her path to receive warmth.

Harry had listened to his ex-girlfriend, and before he could even realize his once bright circle of friends had turned dull and revolved around people he didn’t know. It also hurt him to see Y/N didn’t fight to stay in his life because Harry knew if she said anything, anything at all, about their growing distance, he would have fixed it.

Now he sits in the morning hours of his birthday, staring at his phone, not sure how to respond. His initial thought was to invite her over and share breakfast with Y/N, but he has morning plans with his Mum and sister.

Harry doesn’t want to leave her on read. He would hate for Y/N, believe he didn’t care, that he opened the message and had no effect on him.

Gemma

Birthday boy! Change of plans, we’re bringing breakfast to you. Mum doesn’t want to be out on your big day.

Harry

Come right in. I’ll be here.

He sighed in relief. Gemma would know what to do. He’d ask her how to reply to Y/N. Gemma loved Y/N more than him, something she reminded him of plenty.

While Harry was preparing the table with plates and glasses. He heard a knock on the door. Harry frowned because he told them to come in. Gemma never liked to knock said it was her right as a sister to barge in.

He swung his door open, but instead of coming in contact with familiar faces, there was a large bouquet. It was clear someone was holding it, but it was hiding them. Harry looked at the hands wrapped around the bouquet and spotted a familiar Aquarius ring on the person’s index finger.

“Y/N,” he breathed out.

Harry reached for the flowers, needing to see her. The bouquet fell to his side when Y/N came into view.

She was beautiful.

Harry missed her warmth.

“Happy Birthday, Harry!” She greeted.

In the next instant, Harry wrapped her in his arms. He breathed her in, and a significant weight removed itself from his chest as if his heart was saying finally, we’re okay. Harry tried his best to hold back his tears but after months of not having her in his life and the fear that she might never return, there was no way to control it.

“Poppet, don’t cry.” Y/N squeezed him tighter. “Are you upset I’m here?”

“Crist, no. This is the best thing to happen,” he assured her.

“Am I aloud in?”

Harry laughed, “I’m sorry, yes.”

He broke their hug but did not stop touching Y/N. Harry guided her in with a hand on her back. “Shit, Mum, and Gemma are coming,” he laughs. “They’re going to be so excited to see you.”

Y/N tries her best to hide her smile but fails miserably. He can see right through her. “Are you the change of plans?”

She nods, “Gemma helped orchestrate. Said we were too old to be mopey and stuck with our heads in our ass. On the other hand, Anne promised to come by for lunch.”

“Sounds like them.”

Harry sets the large bouquet in a vase. He runs his fingers through the purple tulips. He once shared how they were his favorite, and Y/N seemed to be the only one to remember.

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Do you want to talk?”

It seemed they both spoke at the same time. While Harry was hungry, he knew a lot was hanging in the air.

“Let’s talk,” he gestures for her to follow him to the patio.

Y/N loved being out here. He has so much greenery and the plants he’s accumulated. You can see all the love built into the house. Y/N missed their summer night talks where they’d be out here for hours, sometimes long after the sun came up.

Once they settled down, Harry dropped a blanket over Y/N because he knew she ran cold. He sits next to her, leaving a small space that never existed before what happened to them.

Y/N played with the threads of the blanket, letting out a deep breath. “I guess I’ll start.” She looked up and found Harry giving her an encouraging smile. “After your fall out with Dean, things got bad.” Y/N spits out. “He—fuck, I was so confused. You wouldn’t tell me what you argued about, and Dean swore you egged him on. I knew it wasn’t true, but I was so confused, and you wouldn’t talk to me. He—Dean broke my phone. He’d follow me to work, call every ten minutes, and be outside to pick me up.” Harry felt sick hearing this. “Dad helped me get a restraining order. I moved apartments. I asked for a transfer at work. Everyone was very supportive, but every time I called you. There was no answer. It was endless voicemails. I was tired of trying,” Y/N sighed. “Therapy has been helpful, but ultimately everything was fucked. I even started therapy, for fucks sake.”

“Y/N,” he hooved his hand over her knee, waiting for her cue. After a slight nod, he placed it on top of her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you went through that. It feels like my fault, but I’m glad you had help. I’m glad you asked for help.”

Y/N lets her tears fall. “I was fucking scared. I wished you were there.”

Harry couldn’t stop himself from pulling her into his lap. He hated to see her cry. He hated being one of the reasons she was hurt. Harry wanted to take away all her hurt.

“I’m sorry. I’m here now,” he promised. “Never going anywhere again.”

Harry held Y/N close, letting her take her time to cry it out. He’s not sure how long Y/N cried until she spoke up. “I swear I’m doing better.”

He shakes his head, “I believe you.”

Y/N settles down but makes no move to get off Harry. He quite likes her here. Harry also knows it’s his turn.

“Simone broke me down. She found out every insecurity and brought it up every chance. It was me laughing. She said it was obnoxious. My clothes were too much, I was begging for attention. My family came over too much. You made her upset. You brought me so much happiness and everything. You were both in the same room, and she realized my attention went to you. Simone pieced something together much quicker than we did, and she managed to break it.” Harry pauses to press a kiss to the top of Y/N’s head. “I know it’s not entirely her fault. I let myself believe everything she told me. I knew they weren’t true, but when your friends stop coming or stop calling, you begin to think maybe she’s right.”

Y/N nuzzles herself closer as if she can’t believe his words.

“I had broken up with Simone, but she wouldn’t leave me alone. Gemma had finally had enough and told her she needed to stop or we’d be going to the press.” Harry winced. “I know she’d never do that to me, but it scared Simone. Haven’t seen her since. Not that I would. We got a restraining order.” He trailed off, glad to get that off his chest.

Y/N giggled. “What couple of best friends. We don’t need matching tattoos, just restraining orders.”

Harry laughed so hard he almost dropped Y/N. To secure herself, she wrapped her hands around his neck. He looked into her eyes and saw his whole future in them.

Two dumb best friends who finally opened their eyes.

“20’s fucking sucked then,” Harry complained.

“Not all of them,” Y/N reminds him. “I’m still 27.”

She had a few more years to enjoy.

“Let’s make the most of your final year before you become old like me,” he teased.

Y/N poked his stomach. “Stop, you’re fine.”

Harry knew he had to tell her. There was no point in keeping it in. She needed to know.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you more every single day.” Y/N presses herself closer. “You’re my best friend. You’re the reason the sun shines brighter every day. I’m a fool without you.” Harry smiles when Y/N places her hands on his cheek. “I am in love with you. You’re the reason I get up every day. My reason to smile. The love of my life.”

Y/N leans forward and kisses him. Harry feels his heart stop, but he kisses her back, pulling her closer. This is Y/N, his best friend. He had waited years for this moment. For years, he thought he’d never get to love or kiss her, but he is sharing the best kiss of his life on his birthday.

He feels all the yearning leave his body and instead feels all her love pouring into him. Harry knew this kiss would change everything for the better.

Y/N pulled away, her lips curled in a smile. “I love you, Harry. I love you today. I love you tomorrow. I will love you in every single universe we find ourselves in.”

Harry kisses her again. It’s the best day of his life. He has an entire life with Y/N to look forward to.

Y/n pulls away. “Happy Birthday, Harry.”

The happiest birthday, indeed.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles birthday #harry styles x y/n #harry styles story #harry styles x reader #harry fic rec #harry styles fic rec #harry angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles 30th #harry styles 30 #harry styles happy birthday

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mellowswriting · 1 year

Text

did you miss me?

pairing || Din Djarin x f!reader

word count || 4.2k

summary || Din proves just how much he missed you while he was away.

content || pure poetic smut, rough but loving sex? is that a thing?, blowjobs, deepthroating, face fucking, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms Din is pussy whipped and painfully in love, thorough aftercare, dorks in love

a/n || not me coming back from my mini hiatus with pure smut 🤠 no one is surprised, right?

It’s been too long since Din has felt your lips against his skin. By too long, he means just a little over a week. Call him dramatic but he’s certain it’s a miracle he survived without you at all. He wasn’t meant to be gone for so long. He’s far too used to waking up and falling asleep next to you, teasingly smacking your ass as you walk by, dragging you close and fucking you against whatever surface is available. Din can feel your absence tugging at his skin, pulling him taut and tense. He’s grown… attached. More attached than he imagined himself capable of, in fact.

So when Fett came to him for help, Din was less than enthusiastic to leave the little world of calm you created together. It took a bit more cajoling than usual. It will take two days at most. We can compensate you. Then you can take your pretty little lover out somewhere nice. Din rolled his eyes at the light teasing from his fellow Mandalorian, but he couldn’t deny the prospect sounded like… fun. Something he hadn’t sought out in a very long time. So Din looped you in on the plan, fucked you nice and thorough, and very begrudgingly left you in his bed to help his friend.

Two days quickly became a week. He really should have known that this would happen but Din is a man of his word. He stays and fights by his friends’ sides, and undeniably wins the entire ordeal for them. The celebration afterward would have been tempting if he didn’t know exactly what was waiting for him back home. Fett didn’t even bother trying to convince him to hang around; he just tossed Din a bag of credits and a knowing grin, which Din pointedly ignored. He took a quick shower before he headed off, all too aware that he wouldn’t be wasting a second once he has you in his arms again.

Din sees you before you see him. He half expects you to startle when he wraps his arms around you from behind - an elbow to the ribs, a kick to his shin, something. But you just lean back into his chest with a surprised but happy sound, the blaster you were stripping abandoned on the counter. Your hands rub down his forearms until you reach his hands and deftly tug his gloves off, carefully setting them aside before lacing your fingers with his. Ease trickles down his spine as he takes in the feeling of your skin against his. Din never realized just how much he needed this. He’s so starved for affection that he feels like he just might die without yours. It doesn’t help that you’re just so… you. Soft against his scarred hands, firm against his stubbornness, so understanding of his inexperience.

“Did you miss me?” There’s a thread of humor in your tone that sends a flare of want burning through his body. He wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder, a small punishment for your teasing, but his hands are too busy to reach up and take off his helmet.

“Of course,” He says instead, the modulator in his helmet doing nothing to hide the raspiness of his voice.

You turn in his arms and Din is graced with your beautiful smile. A thread of concern laces through him as he takes in the tension that lingers in your body and the exhaustion-induced darkness under your eyes. You never sleep well without him. It must have been a late morning for you; you’re still wearing the tiny shorts and old shirt you love to sleep in. He catches a glimpse of the peak of your nipples through the thin material of your shirt just before your chest presses against his beskar. “Yeah? How much?”

“Help me out of my armor and I’ll show you.” That’s all it takes to encourage you to lift his helmet off.

Din drags you in for a blinding kiss the moment the helmet is out of his way. It’s a far cry from the first time he pressed his lips to yours. There is a confidence that surges through him - it ignites his need for you into something palpable and ferocious. Unrelenting. He digs his fingers into your thighs as he hauls you up into his arms and blindly stumbles his way into the small bedroom. Your bright laughter fills the air as he drops you on the bed and for a fleeting moment, genuine fondness soars over his lust, mixing into one devastating need. The two of you eagerly strip away each other’s layers, armor and clothes falling into a pile on the floor.

“Come on, get the fuck - get off.” You grumble under your breath as you finally unclasp his pants enough to strip him out of them. Din’s chuckle dies in his throat at the feeling of your fingers around his aching cock. Fuck, it feels so good it almost hurts - but that doesn’t stop him from greedily chasing more. His hand wraps around yours and guides it along his length in long, tight strokes, and the intensity of finally feeling your touch has his eyes fluttering closed. You huff a quiet laugh at his antics but don’t hesitate to give him even more - little kisses peppered along his belly and gentle caresses to his sensitive inner thighs. He’s so lost in the weight of your worship that he doesn’t even notice when you slip to your knees in front of him.

Din jerks in surprise at the warm, wet slide of your tongue along the head of his cock. A guttural sound rips through his chest as his fiery gaze meets yours, his jaw slack, lips parted as the heat of your mouth slowly envelopes him. His hand falls away as you work him further, instead coming to rest on the crown of your head. He doesn’t pull your hair or try to push; he just rests his hand there, gently caressing your hair as you roll your tongue in practiced swirls. Every inch you take further sends him reeling, pulls out those desperate little sounds he knows you love. Pride swells in his chest as your nose brushes the short, curly hair at the base of his cock. It isn’t easy; Din isn’t exactly a small man, in any sense of the word, but you still work him until your jaw aches and drool drips down your chin.

“Fuck… you’re so good,” Din’s voice is gruffer than usual, all deep and gravelly, and it does something to you. He watches with rapt attention as you go all soft and pliant for him, a muffled whine vibrating against his cock. His hips jerk unbiddenly at the feeling and an apology is poised to fall from his lips - but you just whine again. “Oh, is that what you want? You want me to fuck your pretty little face?”

You nod as best you can and Din has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. It ignites something almost animalistic in him when these moments align so perfectly; his need to be in control rises to meet your need to be taken, and the two of you become one. Din’s wide palm settles at the back of your head to steady you against the slow, steady pace of his thrusts. His free hand grabs one of yours and laces your fingers together, and the familiar unspoken agreement passes between you.

Squeeze my hand if you want me to stop.

The muscle in his jaw jumps at the sight you make. Unshed tears shine in your eyes as you gaze up at him, your lips stretched around the thickness of his cock. His fingers drift across your cheekbone and the steady pace he’s built falters as you instinctually lean into the familiar touch. Din’s heartbeat stutters. It's so simple, the absolute trust you show him. Even as your throat flutters around the almost too-big stretch of his cock, your eyes glimmer with so much love that Din nearly drowns in the overwhelming wave of intimacy. His stomach tightens, his stamina dashed in the wake of your beauty. It's enough to force him to pull you away. He can’t finish now, not like this. Not until he has you laid out beneath him, trembling and sweat-slick under his nimble fingers. He has been fantasizing about it for days, the idea taking the front stage of his mind and consuming all of his attention.

“Fuck, wait…” Din grits out through clenched teeth. His blunt fingernails dig into the thick muscle of his thigh as he tries to drag himself away from that edge. You just smile up at him, all too aware of the effect you have on him, and Din can’t help himself. He guides you up with a hand on the back of your neck and kisses you fiercely, completely unbothered by the taste of himself lingering on your tongue. He grumbles against your lips, “You’re too good at that.”

You don’t have long to preen under his praise. Din has the body of a hard-working man; he’s thick, all well-built muscle and startlingly fast reflexes as if he was handcrafted by the highest divinity. He’s powerful. And he has no issue in using that power to manhandle you onto the bed. Din kneels on the bed and uses his broad stature to his advantage, your thighs forced to part as he braces them against his own. The opportunities feel endless with you lying so close, so exposed beneath him. Din aches to worship every inch of your body. He wants to tease you with his tongue and fingers until you beg him, until his name falls from your lips, all sugared and desperate and ethereal.

Din hums a pleased sound as he finally lets his touch gravitate between your thighs. You’re so warm, so slick. “I haven't even touched you and you're so wet…”

“Yeah, well,” You chuckle breathily. “I missed you, too.”

That whispered confession makes his heart lurch. He has to sink his teeth into the delicate, already sore flesh inside his cheek to rein in the instinct that rears its head; that old animalistic instinct that screams at him to bend you over and fuck you, raw and unrelenting until he has his fill. He knows he’ll give in to it soon, but first… first he needs to show you the devotion you deserve. A shudder wracks through your body at the insistent exploration of his fingertips as they delve deeper into your pussy, teasing at your entrance before sliding up to brush against your clit. He’s entranced by the petal-soft feeling of your skin; so soft, so warm. He could stay like this for hours.

But then your breathing goes unsteady and you grind against his hand in a feeble attempt for more. “Please, Din.”

The fragile hold on his self control snaps.

Two fingers sink into your pussy and Din moans at the feeling of your wet heat tightening, trying to draw him even deeper as if he isn’t already buried knuckle deep. His other hand braces against the pillowy flesh of your inner thigh to keep your legs spread wide. He isn’t letting you hide from him, not tonight. Those two fingers curl up, driven by muscle memory and an overwhelming need to make you see stars, and he’s rewarded with your cries of pleasure. His fingers are thick and calloused from years of hard work, and he knows just how to use them to make you scream.

Din works your pussy in eager strokes, easing his fingers out of you only to introduce a third on his way back in. He watches with bated breath as you devolve into a whimpering, writhing mess. The sheets are your only anchor against the onslaught of pleasure. Your fingers twist the expensive fabric so tight that your nails threaten to tear right through it, but you can’t help it - not when his thumb is rubbing precise circles over your clit until you see stars. Your hips roll and a strangled whimper falls from your lips, and Din can feel it. He can feel the intensity that radiates from you the closer he draws you to a devastating orgasm.

You’re just so easy for him to read. Every hitch in your breath, every jerk of your hips, every rhythmic pulse of your walls. The siren song of your body is impossible to resist. You whisper his name, lovesick and aching, and Din knows you’re close. Some small, cruel part of him wants to leave you right there on the precipice with euphoria hanging just outside of your reach. The bigger part of him, though? It won’t rest until you break for him.

“Let go,” Din rasps, leaning closer to kiss your thigh. The roughness of his stubble makes you jerk in surprise. He can’t take his eyes off of your face, too enraptured by the sight of you falling apart just from his touch. “Fuck, you look… you’re so beautiful, cyare.”

The praise sends you trembling. You manage to meet his eyes for a mere second before you throw your head back into the plush pillows, a broken cry choking through the clench of your teeth as you rock your hips down into his touch. Din lets you take and take without hesitation until you finally shatter. The violent arch of your spine forces Din upright to give you the space you need, his hand still working you through your orgasm in steadily slowing strokes.

“Fuck, that - you… so good, you did so good for me.” Din trips over his words in his haste to praise you but it still affects you all the same. You give him that love-drunk smile as he presses closer to hover over you, his broad form caging you in against the bed. He knows you’re still lost in the bliss of it all but he just can’t help himself from dragging his lips along your jaw and neck, leaving sloppy kisses and teasing bites in his wake. It has been days since he had the chance to properly shave and the rough feeling of his stubble against your skin makes you squirm and laugh brightly. “You have no idea how - fuck…”

He can’t even find the words to tell you just how much he needed this, how much he needed you, but he doesn’t need them. You whisper ‘I know,” before kissing him, your tongue teasing his soft lower lip, and Din whines. A sound of pure need and adoration. He crowds closer to deepen the kiss and he can’t help the small canting of his hips as his neglected cock nudges your thigh. It isn’t easy to ignore the ache that has been building but he wants to give you time to really come down and recover - he is an excellent lover, after all. But he isn’t the only one who has been impatiently awaiting this moment.

The shock of your fingers wrapping around his cock has Din breaking the kiss with a rough gasp, those dark brown eyes widening as they lock with yours. He can see his own lust mirrored in them as you guide him closer and line him up, too impatient to wait for him to move of his own volition. You’re breathtaking in your need for him. It never fails to stroke his ego, to make him feel like the most desirable man in the world. An unspoken question passes between you, one you answer with your thighs wrapping around his waist, and Din’s willpower to ignore his urges vanishes.

Din sinks into your wet heat, doesn’t stop until he’s buried to the hilt and the head of his cock nudges your cervix. He usually pauses there, just to give you time to adjust to the obscene stretch, but the animal instinct that burns between you is too much to ignore. His blunt nails bite into the soft flesh of your hips as he pins you beneath him, keeping you still and unable to escape the sharp, fast shove of his hips - as if you would dream of trying. The entire bed shudders and jerks under the weight of Din’s strength.

It doesn’t take long for Din’s large hand to find its way to your throat, his forefinger and thumb digging into the hinges of your jaw. He doesn’t restrict your breathing; Din just wants to keep your eyes on him as he fucks you brainless. Your lips part with a small gasp and an awed, pleasure-struck smile blooms across your face, and warmth unfurls through Din’s body at the sight you make. So beautiful, so intoxicated by his touch. He can’t deny you when your chin tilts, your wordless request for a kiss met by a soft brush of his lips. Such a soft, gentle thing should seem out of place in the deliciously harsh treatment of your body, but it doesn’t. It feels so right that his chest aches with it.

Din’s nose brushes yours as he hitches your hips higher and suddenly your back arches, his name cried out right against his lips. He drinks in the sounds of your ecstasy, the very nectar of the gods he needs to go on. The slight shift in angle only deepens as he damn near presses your body in half, your knees pressed back into your chest. The sharp shift makes you feel even tighter, especially as your pussy throbs deliciously around his cock. You whimper a broken sound because you know just how fucked you are. The position isn’t easy for either of you to hold but it just hurts so damn good, a perfect pinch of pain against endless waves of pleasure that makes you gush around him. Din doesn’t fuck you like this until the very end, when you’re both eager for release and clawing for that last little bit to throw you over the edge.

The earnest press of his thumb against your clit sends you reeling, the sensitivity almost too much to handle, but you both know he won’t rest until he hears you scream his name again. It’s sharp and electric, and Din knows just how to play your body until you break. Your hips jerk away on instinct before surging forward once more, driven by greed and pure, unadulterated pleasure. A whisper of ‘just like that’ is all the encouragement he needs to work through the burn in his thighs and keep his sharp pace, his violent thrusts shoving you further up the bed. It’s so fucking worth it just to feel your pussy tighten around him so hard you nearly force his cock out. Your thighs tremble and your hand flies up to press against his chest as you choke out a vague warning, your words nearly unintelligible as the surge of your orgasm gushes from you to wet his thighs and belly.

The feeling makes his rough pace stutter in shock and Din growls your name, fascination and lust burning hot in his tone as realization washes over him. It’s the only thought playing on a loop in his mind - he made you fucking squirt. He’s always wanted to see it, to feel the wetness of your cum on his skin. Delight and pride sing in his veins as he falls into a sloppy pace of short, rough strokes. Your slick drips along his thighs in little rivulets down to soak into the sheets and Din finally breaks. He doesn’t pull out - some filthy part of him wants to see his cum mixed with yours, dripping from your fucked out hole just so he can shove it back in with his fingers. He wants you marked as his, just as you have marked him as yours.

“Was that…” Din asks, his dry throat making his voice even rougher. “Did I really make you…”

“You did,” You answer his half-finished question with a breathy chuckle - as if you haven’t just rocked his entire fucking world.

You welcome the heavy weight of his body sinking into yours. Even with the ache in your thighs and back from his rough manipulation of your body, you let your legs shift back down to his waist and stroke the soft curls at the back of his head. Din kisses the valley between your breasts, a small offering of appreciation as he buries his face in your chest. The exhaustion of the last days - hell, of the last hours - vies to take over. Din lies in the embrace of your arms and your cunt, your overstimulated walls pulsing around his softening cock, and he finally feels at peace. At home, safe in the bed you share. But the urge to care for you is much stronger than the urge for sleep.

Din carefully untangles your body from his. Your disgruntled little groan is shushed with promises of a quick return and a fleeting kiss to your forehead. He has his own little ritual for those moments after he’s fucked you senseless. Water, a soft robe, maybe a snack or two, and a small cloth soaked in warm water. He catches a glimpse of the little smile on his face in the bathroom mirror as he wrings the excess water into the sink. It all feels so… right. For once, he isn’t searching for somewhere, for someone. He feels lucky. Din takes his armful of goods and that little smile of his back to you - and he nearly drops it all at the sight of you.

You are glowing in the aftermath. A light sheen of sweat illuminates your body in the low light, shows off the curves of your body as you lie prone in the expensive sheets he bought just for you. The crook of your elbow hides your face from view, but he already knows the blissful expression that is tucked away there. It is seared into his memory, one of his most beloved memories. Every ounce of tension has left your being; you’re loose and relaxed without a care in the universe. Elegant and beautiful with the evidence of his presence drying on your thighs, darkening the curve of your hips in the shape of his fingers. You are a goddess in your own right and Din knows he will spend every moment of his life worshiping at the altar of your body. He revels in that knowledge, takes the utmost peace in it.

Life may be chaotic and uncertain, but this… this is eternal.

In these quiet moments, he knows you crave his touch more than anything. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, skin on skin as he eases you through the submissive haze. Din settles close to you, propped up on his elbow, and sets about taking care of his lover. You wince just slightly as he passes the cloth along your sore cunt. Murmured apologies are met with dismissive hums. No words need to be said for your message to get across. I loved it. Don’t apologize for giving me what I want. Still, he pays close attention to the marks he left on your body. The soft floral scent of your favorite lotion lingers in the air long after he’s finished using it to ease the knots in your muscles.

Din loves taking his time with his aftercare. Once he has you cleaned up and rehydrated, he snuggles in close and lets his hands wander. His fingers trace nonsensical patterns into your plush thighs, over your belly, and up your sides. You shiver as his fingertips trail over your ribs and shoot him a warning look that he knows all too well. His sweet little woman, so sensitive to his touch. He does know better than to tickle you, so he instead slips his fingers beneath your jaw and tilts you up into a soft kiss. While he has you enraptured by his lips, his hand falls to your chest, cupping your breast in his large hand and groping you shamelessly. It's so silly that you pull away with a playfully incredulous laugh and Din can’t help but smile, one eyebrow raised as he takes in how beautiful you look.

“I really did miss you, you know.” You say as you reach up to brush his hair away from his forehead. Din sighs and captures your hand in his, drawing it up to his lips to kiss each of your fingertips, your knuckles, even your palm.

“I love you.” The words fall from his lips without thought. It startles him, his own candor. The vulnerability of it. But just as anxiety begins to crest, it’s burned away by the bright grin that blooms across your face.

You tug him closer, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I love you, too.”, like a little secret, just for the two of you - and you kiss him. You keep kissing him, pulling him down until his body is pressed fully against yours. Din doesn’t know how long the two of you lay there, languidly kissing and whispering little confessions of love, but he knows he would stay there forever.

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